


Wisdom in Hardship

by TCRegan



Series: Ascension of the Wolf [3]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 43,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3423797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Devastation at Haven forces the Inquisition to seek a new base of operations. Meanwhile the Venatori threat in the west continues to grow, and strange tales about the Grey Wardens and their disappearance are starting to circulate.</p><p>Amidst the chaos, Fenris and Dorian work to figure out their feelings for one another, and how to move forward past the many obstacles in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back once again to Part 3 of Ascension. Thanks again to everyone who's been so damn supportive, even if it's just hitting that kudos button. Greatly appreciated to know you guys are enjoying this, hopefully as much as I enjoyed writing it. Part 3 was by far the most difficult, but most fun I think, a sort of pinnacle of plot for both the story and the angst and tension between Fenris and Dorian.
> 
> Despite the summary, Part 3 takes place directly where Part 2 leaves off.
> 
> Many major thanks to my wonderful wife Vee, whom without, this story would have not existed, or at least been utter crap. Thank you for making me better, love. <3

Fenris had never been part of something so spectacular. He'd been in Provings, attended grand parties, even saw a Qunari attack from a distance, but standing at what was left of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, watching Anders and Solas and the free mages close the Breach, he felt different. He wasn't here to put on a show for people, he was here to support something larger than himself. A cause. For the first time since leaving Tevinter, he found that he didn't miss it as much as he once did. The Inquisition was doing good work. Not just in closing the Breach, but taking care of the people of Thedas in a way neither Chantry seemed to be able to do. And with Cassandra leading them, there was no room for the politicking, the backstabbing, the sneaky sort of nonsense that seemed to accompany every organized group in the whole world, not just in Tevinter.

A cheer rose as the sky mended itself, and he found himself kneeling next to Anders, hand on the pommel of his dagger. To comfort or to subdue the spirit inside him, he wasn't sure yet. But no cracks of blue appeared in his skin. Anders fell to his side, curled in a fetal position, but he was alive, breathing, and when his eyes opened, there was no trace of the spirit there. Fenris leaned over, offering a hand.

"Is it done?" Anders asked, breathing heavily. He took Fenris's hand.

Fenris pulled him carefully to his feet, Cassandra there behind him. Anders stumbled and she caught him easily under the arms, setting him back upright.

"It is," she confirmed, having to raise her voice over the cheers of those who'd gathered.

"Well done," Solas said, raising a palm to Anders' forehead. A white force of magic coalesced there and he pushed it forward. "There. Your mind should be clear again."

Anders nodded. "That's… a very good spell to learn. Better than a cup of coffee in the morning." He shook his head a little, smiling, looking up at the sky. "I can't believe I did that."

Solas chuckled. "Indeed it was a triumph. We should join the celebration back in Haven."

Fenris allowed Anders to lean on him, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him steady, while Cassandra supported his other side. He caught Dorian's eye as they started the climb out of the valley. He looked… not jealous. Upset, perhaps? It was difficult to get a read on him, and he turned with the others, not stopping to speak to Fenris or even to congratulate Anders.

The trek back to Haven was short, Solas providing commentary in the form of hypotheses on the Breach, the Elder One, the mark on Anders' hand, and a myriad of other things relating to magic. When they reached the town, a great cheer rose up, the gathered crowd applauding for their Herald. Anders gave a tired smile.

"I feel like I could sleep for days," Anders said through gritted teeth, waving at them. "Maker, this is awkward."

"You are their savior," Cassandra said. "You performed a feat no one thought possible."

"I'm going to fall over."

Fenris redoubled his grip as Anders' legs buckled underneath him. Cassandra took his arm and pulled it over her shoulders.

"We should take him to rest," Solas said. "Savior or not, what he did required an enormous amount of energy."

"And miss the festivities," Anders said sadly.

Someone had found musical instruments, the sounds of a merry song filtering through the town toward them. It seemed that a celebration was inevitable, and no one was inclined to stop it.

"Rest first," Cassandra said, helping him through the street.

As they passed, people clapped for Anders, some stopping to pat him on the shoulder or thank him, or kiss his cheek. He took it in stride, offering a tired smile, trying to remain upright even as fatigue dragged him down. They reached the house he shared with Hawke, and Cassandra deposited him unceremoniously into bed. Solas set both staves aside and helped him off with his boots and coat. Fenris realized that Dorian had not accompanied them, and busied himself with building up the fire, burying his hurt feelings deep.

"Solas will stay with you to make sure you are truly all right," Cassandra said.

Solas nodded in agreement. "You should go enjoy the celebration, Seeker."

Cassandra scoffed. "Someone needs to prepare for the next step, which is finding this 'Elder One' and ending him before he causes more damage. I will be in the chantry." She turned on her heel and left.

"I never thought I'd meet someone who works more than Cullen," Anders said, and pulled the blankets up. "You don't need to stay with me," he added, looking at Solas.

"On the contrary," Solas said lightly, settling down at the desk, "I will find your dreams following this excursion quite fascinating."

"You could be a little less enthusiastic about that," Anders grinned tiredly. He looked at Fenris. "At least you'll enjoy the party for me, right?"

"Hm. Perhaps," Fenris said, straightening. "…I would be displeased if you died, mage. Try not to."

Anders laughed. "I'll work on that. Go on. Solas will take care of me."

Fenris nodded and took his leave. Despite his status as an abomination, Anders seemed to have a hold over his magic. He was in control of himself, even with Hawke gone. He might not have appeared as strong as some of the mages Fenris had met, but to have been put through so much – joining the Grey Wardens, taking a spirit into him, and now the mark in his hand – and come out still sane and not some twisted facsimile of a human, it was impressive. He admitted that, if only to himself, and very grudgingly.

A man pressed a cup into his hand and poured it full of wine before laughing and moving on to the next person who lacked a drink. The savory scent of roasting meat met his nose and he realized it had been several hours since breakfast, and he hadn't eaten much. But a more pressing matter weighed on him. He needed to find Dorian, to talk to him and explain what he felt. They needed to stop running away from one another. 

With a sigh, he headed first toward their tent in a vain attempt at locating him. Of course he wasn't that lucky, and Dorian was missing also from the tavern, the quartermaster's area, and the training grounds. Not that he seriously thought to find him in the latter two, more like grasping at straws. He finished his wine and set the cup down on a stone wall before jogging the steps to the chantry. 

Inside was a stark contrast. With the doors shut behind him, he could barely even hear the music, the singing, the shouts of merriment. The chandeliers were lit, candles burning dimly in the large hall. At the far end he knew he would find Cassandra, perhaps even Cullen was with her, discussing their next moves. He traveled the length of the chantry, the lights flickering, throwing shadows on the walls. It was easy to see why this was a place of worship, the slightest sound interrupting the reverent air.

He passed the door where he'd taken Dorian, the steps that led down to where Danarius was. Fenris shuddered and hurried past, about to knock on the war room door when he heard a voice to his left. Curious, he approached, listening.

"Think anyone will find us?"

"They're all celebrating. No, careful of the desk. Josephine would be most put out if we – AH! Maker, that was nice. Again."

Fenris scowled. Dorian. And from the sounds of it, he was enjoying himself. He should go, tuck his tail between his legs and flee. Barricade himself in their tent and refuse to speak to him. But Alexius's parting words filtered back to him, and instead of running, he opened the door. It wasn't a shock to see Dorian pressed against the wall, his companion pinning him there, head bent low against his chest with Dorian's shirt hiked up. From the angle of their bodies, the soldier's hand appeared to be inside Dorian's pants, or at least trying to get there.

"Just undo… the loop there," Dorian was instructing, his own hand clutching the soldier's hair. He looked up, eyes widening in surprise. "Fenris. What are you-"

The soldier pulled away at once, face flushed red with embarrassment. "We were just-"

"About to have sex," Fenris said flatly. "Go."

"Now wait just a minute-" Dorian started, but the soldier didn't. He tripped over himself as he fled, slamming the door shut behind him. Dorian scowled, pulling his shirt down, smoothing the fabric. "You had no right to… How dare you…" He took a breath, trying to calm down. "You are not my nanny, Fenris. Nor do I need one. There was no reason for you to interrupt."

"I disagree."

Dorian glared, arms crossed over his chest now. "If I wish to indulge in a bit of fun with another consenting adult, it's not your business."

Fenris clenched his fists. This was it. Either he was going to get Dorian to admit his feelings, or _he_ would be the foolish one. He crossed the room, coming to stand in front of Dorian, mere inches away. "Tell me you feel nothing for me, and I'll leave you be."

"I… what? What are you on about?" Dorian said, unconvincingly. His eyes did not quite meet Fenris's, flicking up to his forehead, then down to his nose before he turned his head away.

"Tell me you feel nothing for me," Fenris repeated. "Or kiss me. But don't leave it like this. I am not your slave. I am free. Perhaps lower-class than you, but if that was ever an issue, you wouldn't have been in here with that soldier," he said, gesturing toward the door. "I have nothing to offer you. I have little money. No lands, no holdings. I am everything your father would find detestable in a partner for you. And yet, I…" He looked down.

"And yet?" Dorian prompted, uncrossing his arms slowly.

Fenris looked up, and Dorian met his eyes. "I feel… very strongly for you. I want… Not because I think it's expected of me. You are not Danarius. You could never _be_ Danarius." He reached up and cupped Dorian carefully under the ear, running a thumb along his cheekbone. "You are a better man than him. A better mage. And I can see myself with you. If you want me. So," he took a breath, "tell me you feel nothing for me."

Dorian swallowed hard. "I… I can't do that."

"Then kiss me."

"Fenris, I…"

"We'll worry about the details later. Kiss. Me," he ordered. "As an equal."

Dorian hesitated, but leaned forward, kissing him soundly. Fenris sighed, relaxing into his embrace, relieved that he wasn't wrong, that Dorian was willing to take this chance. Their talk was far from over. He wanted to be more than just a passing indulgence, more than a one night stand. He wanted to show Dorian that he could have more if he let himself. They would deal with the consequences later, the scandal of a high-born mage and an elf, but not now.

Fenris pressed forward, the kiss slightly awkward as he tilted his head, opening his mouth, inviting Dorian in. Warm hands were at the small of his back, holding him close, and Fenris groaned softly as the kiss ended. He rested his head against Dorian's shoulder, listening to the sounds of his own breathing. He'd taken something he wanted for himself probably for the first time in his life. That, more than anything, made him realize he'd left his cage behind for good. He looked up.

Dorian smiled, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from Fenris's forehead. "This is… new to me. Whatever we might be walking into here. Feelings? A rela… ah… something more?" He asked hesitantly, smiling in relief when Fenris nodded. "So you'll have to have patience. Especially if I, hm…" He trailed off

"I'm aware of your lesser qualities," Fenris said, smirking.

Dorian looked scandalized. "I have no lesser qualities."

Fenris was about to point out exactly what he meant, perhaps in chronological order since he'd met Dorian, when an explosion sounded outside, loud enough to penetrate the stone walls of the Chantry.

"I didn't think the earth was supposed to move until after the honeymoon," Dorian said absently.

Fenris didn't join in the joke. Something was wrong. Reluctantly he pulled away from Dorian and wrenched open the door. Cassanda, Cullen, and Leliana raced from the war room, down the hall to the exit. He looked back at Dorian.

"No rest for the wicked," Dorian sighed, and followed Fenris out.


	2. Chapter 2

The dancing and laughing of mere minutes before turned into chaos. Fenris saw fire burning just outside near the training grounds, too high, too wild for cooking. He heard the screams, the panic, people running to and fro, shouting for water buckets.

"Magic gone bad?" Dorian pondered.

"No. Look," Fenris said, pointing toward the south.

"An army over the mountain!" Cullen shouted.

"Judging from the way they're marching, I don't think they're friendly," Dorian muttered. He grabbed Fenris by the arm. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Fenris asked, allowing Dorian to pull him away from the sight.

"Weapons, and then to Anders. There's only one reason why someone would attack Haven." They avoided knocking into soldiers running the opposite direction as they raced for their tent. "The Chantry's got no army, Orlais is locked in a civil war, and Fereldan's king is on the way back to the capital. I doubt he drove his forces north out of sheer annoyance."

"So you think it's-"

Dorian knelt down, pulling his staff from the tent, tossing Fenris his blades. "Venatori? Yes. Likely."

Fenris's heart pounded as he followed Dorian back across the town. He glanced up at the mountain, at all the black dots against the white snow. Thousands of them descended the slopes. How was that possible? Even if more than just a handful of magisters joined the Venatori, how did they amass such a huge force? They couldn't be slaves, they were too organized, too prepared. He and Dorian burst into the house without knocking. Solas was already standing at the window, peering out, Anders asleep on the bed.

"Wake him," Dorian said. "We'll need his help to get out of this."

Fenris wasn't sure. Anders was still weak from closing the Breach. What if he became more of a liability? But Haven wasn't a kingdom, just a small town with stone walls and a gate that was hardly able to be reinforced. They had only a hundred or so horses, perhaps a legion of men if that, and how many of them were army-trained? Even with the mages' support, this did not look like a battle they would win, with or without Anders on his feet.

But Solas didn't argue, moving to Anders' bedside and letting a trickle of magic flow from his palm into his chest. "Time to wake up," he urged quietly.

Anders stirred, eyes opening. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked, covering a yawn, sitting up.

"Not even an hour," Dorian said, sounding apologetic. "But we've got company. An army."

"An army?" Anders asked, confused as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

The door burst open again, bouncing from its hinges. "Anders, are you-" Cullen nodded. "Good. We're pulling everyone back now into the town except the soldiers. The trebuchets are getting ready to fire. It's… The army's commander. It's Samson."

Anders frowned. "Samson?"

"Former templar. You remember? From Kirkwall?"

A former templar at the head of a Venatori army? That didn't make sense. "Are you sure?" Fenris pressed.

"Why would Venatori follow a templar?" Dorian asked, voicing Fenris's confusion.

Anders pulled his boots on, taking his staff from Solas, and they followed Cullen outside.

"They're not Venatori," Cullen growled. "At least not all of them. Templars. The Order that left Val Royeaux. Their response, I expect, for our talks with the mages."

Cassandra was already there, issuing orders to a few soldiers who ran off to fulfill them. She turned, nodding at Anders. "They will be upon us soon. The first trebuchet is ready to fire. Awaiting your order, Cullen."

"We should-"

A loud banging against the wooden gate startled them all.

"An advanced guard?" Cullen guessed, waving over a contingent of soldiers. "Men, ready yourselves in case-"

"I can't come in unless you open!"

"Who-" Cassandra started, but Anders was already moving past her.

Fenris followed without thinking, sword in hand as Anders opened the gate. A large soldier in full armor bearing the Tevinter heraldry across his breastplate stood before them. Fenris raised his sword, but the man staggered forward, blood trickling from his mouth, and he fell. Behind him, a boy. Or what looked like a boy, dressed in tattered and patched clothing, a large hat obscuring half his face. He sheathed his dagger, which was covered in the Venatori's blood. Fenris felt his markings flare to light and he winced, backing away.

"I'm Cole," the boy said by way of introduction. "I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know."

Behind Fenris, Cullen snorted, a noise that was largely bewilderment. "Quite. Where did you come from?"

"Far away."

"What are you doing here?" Anders asked. "Who are-"

"Listen," Cole implored, slightly impatient. "The templars come to kill you."

"We know," Cullen said, stepping forward.

Cole immediately leapt back, arms up as if Cullen was about to hit him.

Anders moved between them, hand on Cullen's breastplate. "Go, Cullen. Rally the men, prepare for the attack."

"The Elder One is here," Cole said urgently. "Do you know him? He knows you. He's very angry."

Fenris looked up to where Cole was pointing. A man in full plate – Samson, he guessed – stood on the ridge. For a moment he couldn't see who Cole was talking about, but a moment later, gliding through a puff of unnatural black smoke was… an abomination? Tall, twisted, fingers ending in claws, the creature towered over Samson.

"What in the Maker's name is _that_?" Dorian gasped, startling Fenris. He hadn't realized Dorian had joined them.

"The Elder One!" Cole insisted.

"No," Anders said, and Fenris felt the fear in his tone. "It can't be."

"What?" Cullen asked, grabbing his shoulder. "Anders, do you know him?"

"I… We have to get everyone back!" Anders shouted. "Now! Back to the town. Behind the gates. Cullen?"

"Haven is no fortress," Cullen said, drawing his sword. "If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle." He turned back to where Cassandra stood, just behind the gates. "Rally the mages! We'll send our cavalry. Have Leliana's archers engage. We have to hit them with everything we've got."

"Take care of the people," Anders ordered. "The ones who can't fight. Get them to the chantry."

Cullen nodded. "Maker go with you, Herald." He turned, calling more orders to his people.

Solas stepped forward and pointed just across the lake. "They come. We need to keep them off the trebuchet long enough for them to fire." He looked at Cole, eyes narrowed curiously. "Can you fight?"

"I can help. I want to help," Cole said eagerly.

Fenris wondered if the boy had a death wish. There was a strange aura permeating from him, something unreal, almost unnatural. But he appeared, for now, on their side.

"Anders?" Solas asked, looking at him.

"Corypheus," Anders breathed.

"What?" Dorian asked, stepping up, touching Anders' shoulder. "We need you with us, Anders. Solas, are you sure he's well enough to-"

"I'm fine," Anders said, taking his staff in hand, knocking it to the ground. The air around them shifted, a barrier spell up and ready. "If we survive this… I'll tell you how Hawke and I already killed him."

Confused, but unable to ask for clarification right now, they followed Anders down the hill to the trebuchet to engage the vanguard.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders wondered vaguely how Hawke would get along without him. It was his motivation now for not dying, but death felt like it would be a mercy with how much pain he felt. Not that he was a stranger to pain. Locked in the Circle, being punished by templars, or even caught with a random spell from a fellow apprentice. Running away and being captured, being woken with a kick to the head, dragged back to the tower, then later his conscription into the Grey Wardens. Joining with Justice was painful. The realization of what he'd done after, running away again. Then came a moment of peace after, a respite, hiding among the refugees, helping, healing. Recollecting himself, learning how to ease Justice's urgings through selfless acts of kindness. Of fixing Kirkwall slowly from the inside out, of joining the mage underground, rescuing his fellow mages from the Gallows.

But it hadn't been enough. Not until now. Not until the Circles rose up, knowledge out of the White Spire regarding the Rite of Tranquility changing everything. Mages knew they could take their freedom without fear of the templars, Fiona and the others voting to remove themselves out from under the Chantry's yoke. He wished it had been less… painful. But violent revolution was inevitable after all means of compromise and peaceful resolution had been ripped from them. The Conclave… The Divine's Conclave should have fixed it all, but this… It was all…

"You are a mistake."

Anders looked up, lying prone on the ground, face pressed against the dirt. He heard the screeching of the dragon some feet behind him, and in front of him was the monster that plagued his dreams more than any other. He heard him months ago, somewhere in the back of his mind, the Calling. But he ignored it, hid it from Hawke, hid the fact that he could _hear_ the song. It was too soon, and it was wrong. Not the true Calling, but something he heard before. Corypheus's cries in the dark. He thought it was his old nightmares coming back to haunt him again.

"I know you."

Corypheus, magister, darkspawn, ancient and evil, leaned over and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him up and off his feet. Anders dangled in the air, wondering how many bones were broken in their attempts to run away from the dragon that spewed red hot lightning at them. He had screamed at the others to go, telling them to get to the chantry, to go with Cullen, to follow the hidden path into the mountains. Someone argued, shouted. A lot of shouting. Blanks in his memory. Justice taking over? He saw his own body now, saw the reflection of himself in Corypheus's eyes. No cracks in his skin, just him.

Corypheus sneered. "You woke me years ago."

And how was it that he stilled lived? "We killed you!" Anders shouted. "You were dead. Hawke killed you!"

Corypheus laughed, a deep and oily sound that slithered through every nerve of Anders' body. "I am more than flesh, you sad, pathetic mortal child. Death was merely minor setback, one of which I am willing to forgive since ultimately you and your foolish friends granted me my freedom. No, I came here for the Anchor, that which you stole from me. A theft which cannot be forgiven."

Memories flooded back to him, but they were all a blur, a lot of running and a woman behind him, who people – and himself – believed to be Andraste. If it was Her will that he possessed the Anchor now, then this magic should never have been in Corypheus's hands in the first place. Regardless of how it came to be, it was too dangerous for a madman like Corypheus to wield. "You can't have it! I won't let you!"

It was a cheap threat, thrown out in desperation as he dangled feet above the ground, seemingly helpless. He hurt, the pain coursing through his body, the Calling, the song he heard, the itching at his brain being so close to Corypheus, Justice clawing at his chest now, wanting to burst free. Corypheus dropped him easily, removed an orb from his robes, black but crackling with red energy. Anders' legs gave out from under him and he crumpled to the ground once more.

"If you can stop me," Corypheus said. A challenge. He scoffed. "I thought not. The process of removing it begins now."

Anders cried out in pain as his palm split open with the green light of the Veil. He was on his knees, gasping for breath. If he lived, he could tell Varric to write about how brave he was, how he stood up to Corypheus and stared him down like a hero. But he wasn't a hero, just a mage who wanted better for his people. He never wanted to be the Herald, but if it meant saving just one more person like himself, just one less mage that had to suffer at the hands of the templars, he would endure any pain, any gift given to him. And if Andraste or the Maker wanted him to suffer for it, he would endure. But this pain, this burning agony was too much.

_The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak._

He was at his physical limit, his mana drained, no healing magic came to him as he tried desperately to defend himself. His hand rose of its own accord, Corypheus reaching out, drawing the energy from the Anchor.

"It is your fault, 'Herald.' You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose."

_Why? How?_ Anders wanted to ask, but he couldn't, mouth opened to speak and instead he screamed, feeling as if his arm were being wrenched from its socket. Corypheus would pull the Anchor from his hand and leave him to die, and there was nothing he could do. He tried again to reach for his magic, coming up with nothing.

"I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as _touched_ , what you flail at rifts like a child demanding a toy, I crafted to assault the very heavens."

Corypheus closed his fist, severing the connection, and Anders fell forward, clutching his left wrist, gasping. The green light remained; he felt it burning there in his hand. His vision started to tunnel and he heard Corypheus as if he were far away.

"What," Anders managed to gasp, "what is it? What does it do?" He knew only one of its uses, closing the rifts, sealing the Breach in the sky, but Corypheus's plans were far more nefarious.

"I have walked the Fade, physically," Corypheus said. "I have seen the throne of the gods."

"The Black City," Anders muttered. He remembered Corypheus waking, confused. The tale the Chantry told to blame all mages for their hubris, how they _dared_ to enter the Maker's city, a journey not meant to be taken by mortal, living men. And yet now Corypheus claimed it again, and he no longer sounded confused.

Corypheus lowered the orb, scowling with his twisted, scarred face. "The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling."

"Good," Anders said, defiantly. "Good. I'd rather it ruined than to see it in your hands!"

Corypheus growled, a burst of red lightning shooting from his palms. It caught Anders square in the chest and he fell back, the pain of it burning his skin. He lay supine, staring up at the night sky through the smoke and the ash, and wondered if death would come now. The sky turned bright, the stars blurred and he blinked rapidly. Was this the light to guide him to the Maker's side? But then his body was moving on its own. No more pain, it was just a faded memory. He knew without knowing that Justice had taken over. There was no one, no Hawke, no Cassandra or Cullen there to stop him. To keep him calm. His hands moved on their own accord, gripping the dirt underneath him before he ever so slowly got to his feet. The buzzing in his head, the Calling that he knew was just Corypheus, faded until it disappeared completely. Normally, losing himself was terrifying, but there was something calm and almost peaceful about it now. He remembered the last time Justice emerged when Corypheus was near, Justice losing himself, being twisted by the magister, forced to fight his friends. But for his loss of control now, he knew it was Justice – not Corypheus – who commanded his body.

"I should have killed you before, boy. Consider it a mercy now that I do not make you and your pathetic spirit my pet. I thank you for releasing me from my thousands-year old dream, but now it is time to end this."

Power, pure energy from the Fade itself gathered inside him. His palms filled with white light, and he was warm, hot, the ebullience he felt every time he reached for a spirit to help shield him from harm or heal a patient, to mend a bone or sew a cut. Justice, for he was no longer Anders, stood tall and proud. A movement behind him and he turned, vision filling with bright blue, the shape of the dragon coming to defend its master. Normally he would be terrified, but Justice felt no fear. The memory of it flying overhead, spouting its terrible red electric energy, enraged the spirit that was Anders, for he and Justice were one. A knot of magical force filled his palm, and clenching his fist, he drew back and delivered a sizzling punch, catching the dragon full on in the snout. It screamed, a terrible piercing cry, and was knocked off its feet, sliding through the snow and ice. But Justice didn't stop, the concentrated energy magic flowing from both palms, he turned toward Corypheus. 

"You do not control the will that is Justice," came the deep, reverberating voice from inside his own chest.

Corypheus stepped back, eyes widening. He lifted his clawed hands, starting to call on a spell to stop Justice from moving, to take him over like he had years ago. But Justice would not be taken. He didn't hesitate, throwing his hands out, the double assault from both bolts of surging power flying toward Corypheus. Corypheus shouted, leaping out of the way, the dragon recovering in time to grab him up. The magical bolts didn't stop, knocking the trebuchet, releasing the catch. Anders felt a cool breeze against his skin amidst the flames. Haven was burning down around him. The dragon took flight, Corypheus in its claws. 

Suddenly he could move again, the pain returning in full force. Everything seemed to quiet, then… rumbling. The boulder from the trebuchet struck true, staring an avalanche. Though he wanted nothing more than to lay down and die, he couldn't.

He ran.

The thundering grew louder behind him and he leapt over broken boards, ducked fire and dodged falling rocks. He had no idea where he was going, lost was the path to the chantry. He couldn't outrun it. He would die here, alone. Hawke would never know what happened to him. He was thrown from his feet, and suddenly he was falling. A sinkhole? In Haven? How? He didn't have time to scream, the darkness swallowing him up and he landed hard on his back, his breath driven sharply from his lungs. He gasped for air. Tried again. On the third, he regained it and panted heavily, looking up at a hole in the cave, which appeared no bigger now than his hand in front of his face.

He survived a hundreds-foot fall. It felt as if every bone in his body was broken, but he survived.

"Justice?"

But of course the spirit wouldn't answer him. They hadn't had a conversation since their last, just before they joined. But nor could he feel him, and there was a surge of panic before a pulse of reassurance, like a soothing kiss to his forehead. Justice was there. Their thoughts intertwined as ever, but both the flesh _and_ the spirit were exhausted. He could close his eyes now and sleep, but he wouldn't die. Couldn't die. Not here. Not now. By sheer force of will he pushed himself to an upright position and reached for his magic. There, but spent. He could overextend himself but it would be pointless, as all he wanted to do was stop the pain.

Walking – stumbling forward, really - he found his staff, pleased when it lit at his touch, charged by runes inlaid on the grip. It was made of gold aurum, crafted by Hawke's father, given to him years ago by Hawke, cementing their friendship. And love. The relief of Andraste at the top seemed to smile at him. Ironic? Or emblematic? He looked down at his hand, the green glow muted now and no longer painful. A mistake, Corypheus said. And the fact that Corypheus was still alive? No, he couldn't think about it. Not now. Not with his mind so fogged and his body needing rest. Survival was his only thought now. He leaned heavily on his staff as he continued.

Winding caves led him up and out and into a frozen, snowy wasteland. He pulled his torn and tattered coat around himself, shivering, wishing he had just one vial of lyrium to replenish his mana, if only to shield himself from the freezing cold. The snow was knee-deep and powdery, making it difficult to walk. But he walked, eyes down and away from the wind, trying to find a trail, if the others had even come through this way. He didn't want to die here. He needed to get to the rest of the Inquisition, to get word to Hawke somehow. He wouldn't leave him alone, he wouldn't die.

He would find them.


	4. Chapter 4

In the hours following the attack, Fenris found himself in a camp with the rest of the Inquisition, large fires burning amidst the snow, just barely controlled by the mages. No one complained though. It was too cold even in the lee of the mountain blocking the wind; they would freeze to death without the fires. Pack animals – brontos mostly, some druffalo, and quite a few horses – were set up in a makeshift paddock, but everywhere was snow. It was thinner here, little patches of dead grass poking up, but the ground was mostly frozen.

They were lost in the mountains and it was the middle of the night. Soldiers lay dying, the mages doing what they could to either heal them or end their suffering. Cole, the boy who'd come to warn them, was kneeling next to the chancellor whose memory of a summer pilgrimage saved most of their lives. Cullen bravely led them into the passage through the mountains, but to what end? And when night fell fully and most of them could no longer continue, Cassandra called for them to stop. Supplies were meager, but they'd been fed a thin stew and the last of the wine. Most were asleep now inside what tents had been salvaged.

"Pretty bleak," Dorian sighed, settling next to him.

They were sitting at the mouth of a tent, much smaller than the one they had in Haven, but neither complained. They were lucky just to have the cover. Inside, two blankets and their own supplies, Fenris's blades and Dorian's staff, and whatever was left in their packs. He wouldn't have cared if he'd lost it all, except of course the sword that Alexius gifted him, and the daggers that were a joint present from Dorian and Felix.

"I assume we'll have more direction in the morning," Fenris said, shivering a bit.

Dorian pulled one of the blankets from the tent and wrapped it around both of them, his arm encircling Fenris's waist as he pulled him close. "I wonder what will happen."

Fenris hesitated but leaned against Dorian, drawing heat and comfort from him. He wasn't sure if this was normal, the next step in their relationship, or simply two people trying to reconcile what happened after a very long, very traumatic day.

"I expect we'll find somewhere else to set up. Another town," Fenris said quietly, frowning. "But…"

"Anders, I know," Dorian whispered.

Fenris felt Dorian press a kiss to the top of his head. Another act of comfort. He wondered if Dorian cared that people could see them together like this, and wondered further if anyone else cared. They were sleeping, or in the case of the soldiers, patrolling. Cullen, Cassandra, and Solas took off minutes before, determined to keep scouting the area, to see if Anders was heading their way. Fenris thought it was all in vain. There was no way he could have survived that.

They sat in silence for some time, watching the fire crackle and burn. Fenris slid his hand onto Dorian's knee, pleased when Dorian covered it with the one not around his waist. They needed to talk more, to figure things out, but it didn't seem like the right time. Not with Anders missing. He was… a friend? Fenris admitted that he respected him, his power, but could he consider him a friend? He felt closer to Hawke, some kind of kinship with the man who wielded a blade rather than a staff. And the thought of facing Hawke, knowing that Anders was likely dead, saddened him.

"We should go to sleep," Dorian said finally, holding back a yawn. 

People still milled about the camp and Fenris heard the sounds of the wounded, the moaning, felt the ebb and pull of magic in the air. He nodded. There was no more they could do tonight after all, and he crawled into the tent with Dorian. Perhaps in the morning he would offer to go look for Anders, or any sign of him. It would be easier to see in the daylight. He only hoped there was something to find, even if it was just a body. A body…

"Dorian," he asked, as they arranged themselves atop one blanket, the other wrapped around them. He faced Dorian, the firelight outside bright enough that he could still see him easily. "What… what happened to Danarius? He was in the cells…"

Dorian's expression turned pensive. "I imagine he died. Crushed when the mountain came down."

"Do you think there's a chance…"

Dorian reached up, the backs of his fingertips warm against Fenris's cheek. "Even if he lives, I won't let him touch you."

The intensity of the statement made Fenris shiver. Even before all this, Dorian was willing to pull a blade on Danarius, to threaten him with a life-ending injury just for touching Fenris. "I know. I would do the same for you."

Dorian smiled and sighed, moving closer, carefully working a thigh between Fenris's legs. "Is… this all right?"

Fenris nodded. "Unless you'd prefer I roll over."

Dorian let out a laugh. "Oh, if it were another situation, another time, I might take full advantage of that."

"You're not taking advantage of me."

"No, I mean… Ah. _Kaffas_." Dorian closed his eyes a moment. "This is normally easier."

"… I wasn't aware I was making it hard."

Dorian laughed, burying his face into Fenris's chest as he continued, apparently unable to stop.

"What… are you… did I say something?" Confused and embarrassed, Fenris felt the angry blush rise into his cheeks. Was this all a joke to Dorian? He started to pull away.

"No! No, Maker, Fenris. Don't." Dorian grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. "I'm sorry. I'm exhausted. It has been one hell of a long day, and you… the finer points of flirting and euphemism seem to be lost on you. Shame, though I hardly mind. I simply need to rest. All right? I wasn't making fun of you, I promise."

"Very well," Fenris agreed, slightly placated, and settled down.

"Do roll over though," Dorian said. "It's freezing and this blanket is much too small. I'd set the whole tent on fire if I thought it would help in the long run."

Fenris rolled over and settled back into Dorian's embrace, his body melding nicely against him. Dorian's arm came heavily around his middle, and he felt warm breath tickling his ear. "I like this," Fenris said, though he felt slightly foolish saying it.

Silence for a moment, and Fenris thought Dorian had fallen asleep. "So do I."

Fenris found Dorian's hand, entwining their fingers. "Dorian."

"Mm?" He sounded close to sleep.

"I don't wish to be just another of your passing indulgences."

Silence.

"Dorian?"

Fenris lifted his head to peer back over his shoulder. Dorian's eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. Asleep, then. Fenris sighed, settling back down, head on Dorian's bicep. One day they would have a long, explanatory conversation about whatever was between them. Until then, he would take what comfort and enjoyment he could.


	5. Chapter 5

Fenris jerked awake, body immediately tense and ready for a fight. It took him ten full seconds to realize he wasn't in any danger, that they were in their tent somewhere in the Frostback Mountains. He thought for a moment that he had a nightmare and just couldn't remember, but Dorian was awake too and sitting up now, hand pressed comfortingly against Fenris's back. His hair was tousled, and he blinked rapidly, listening.

"What is… it sounds like…"

Fenris scrambled to his knees and crawled out of the tent. "An attack?"

"The Herald!" someone shouted. "Wake the healers! We found the Herald!"

"Where's the Grand Enchanter?"

"Get a potion!"

"Wake Mother Giselle!"

"Anders," Fenris realized, and grabbed Dorian's hand, hauling him to his feet. "They found Anders!"

They hurried across the camp to the makeshift shelter some of the soldiers set up for Mother Giselle and other Chantry sisters. A bed was cleared off and Cullen, carrying the unconscious Anders, laid him down gently on it. His lips were blue, his face pale, snow frozen in his hair. Fenris and Dorian stood at the entrance, many more behind them, watching. The crowd parted and a sleepy-eyed Fiona pushed her way through. Cassandra inched out of the way, holding the staff Fenris recognized as belonging to Anders.

"Warm water and bandages," Fiona ordered.

Fenris felt Dorian leave his side, returning less than a minute later with a campfire pot full of snow. He ducked into the shelter and with a palm full of fire, melted it carefully. Fenris watched in silence as Fiona worked, instructing Cullen to help remove the wet clothing, the sopping coat and battered leather boots. Cassandra turned to the amassed crowd, shooing them out of the way. Fenris slipped inside and was grateful when she allowed it before she pulled the canvas hangings to give them privacy.

"Go," Fenris heard her telling the crowd. "We will let you know when he wakes."

Mother Giselle took the wet clothes, hanging them on a cross-beam, and Cullen pulled a blanket from another bed, tucking it around Anders, who'd been stripped to his smalls. His body was battered, covered in bruises, but it was the dark mottled black of his fingers and toes that was cause for alarm. Frostbite, when not treated, could cause loss of limb. Fenris wasn't sure where he'd heard that, having spent most of his life in a climate that never even saw snow. He hoped Fiona could heal him.

"More snow," Fiona said. "More warm water."

Fenris took the pot at once and ducked out of the shelter, ignoring those who still milled around. Cassandra thankfully stood just outside, her stony look keeping them at bay. Fenris had to walk around the back side of the shelter to fill the pot with untouched snow and returned quickly. The process repeated until Fiona finally nodded to Dorian.

"We have to keep them wrapped and dry. There's a spell for continuous heat. Can you-"

"I'll… try. It's more flash, bang, and woosh when it comes to my inferno spells," Dorian admitted. "I promise I won't set the Herald on fire," he added, when Fiona's eyes narrowed. "That would be embarrassing."

Fenris smiled despite himself, a quick exhale of silent laughter. Dorian focused, hands together to channel his mana, and applied a reddish-orange spell to the dry bandages around Anders' feet and hands. Fiona let out a breath and managed a smile.

"All in a day's work," Dorian said, sounding pleased with himself.

"Do we have any more blankets we can spare?" Fiona asked. "Anything to keep him covered."

Cullen unclasped his pauldrons and cloak. "It'll be large on him, but he'll be warm."

He lifted Anders up and Fiona worked them around his shoulders, the layer of leather and feathers insulating against the cold, the cloak wrapped around his chest. Cullen shook his head, glancing at Anders' coat, which came with its own feathery pauldrons, and looked as if he were going to say something.

"No accounting for taste," Dorian said, beating him to the punch. 

"There is little else we can do for him now," Fiona said. "Mother Giselle and I will stay with him."

"Someone in the camp might have a healing potion or three," Dorian suggested. "We could ask."

"I doubt it," Cullen said, sighing. "We used a lot of resources for the soldiers."

"Elfroot, then," Dorian said. "The bloody stuff grows everywhere. Extremely useful. Fenris and I will have a look and you can get your apothecary to make use of it."

"Thank you," Cullen agreed. "It's appreciated."

"Don't mention it. Any of it," Dorian said. "No, really, when Hawke comes back around, looking for Anders, make sure you tell him that I had nothing to do with leaving Anders behind. Circumstances beyond my control. Fenris, shall we?"

Cullen looked at Fenris, bewildered, and Fenris shook his head, following Dorian out.

"Hawke will not blame you for this."

Dorian laughed. "He'll be looking for someone to blame. Why not the evil mage from Tevinter? While were on that subject," he said, leading Fenris away from the camp and up a small hill, "let's not tell him about… whatever it is that you and I have, all right? I'd like to be spared the awkwardness of justifying this to him when I'm still reconciling it with myself. Actually, if we could just simply not tell anyone right away, that would be bloody brilliant."

Fenris frowned, a painful twisting in his chest. Just a few hours ago they'd sat by the fire together, in plain view for anyone to see. Then again, it could have easily been passed off as a simple gesture for warmth. The Frostbacks were freezing. He bent to pluck a protruding bit of elfroot from the ground. He understood the need for discretion, of course, but the vehemence with which Dorian spoke, he wondered if it was simply for privacy's sake, or something else.

"Are you ashamed of it?" Fenris asked.

"Vishante Kaffas!" Dorian's shoulders hunched before he whirled around. "No. No, I am not _ashamed_. Believe me, there are a lot of things I did before I met you that one would consider more depraved than merely bedding an elf."

"You think it's depraved to be with me?"

"Now you're purposefully misunderstanding me!" Dorian wasn't quite shouting. They were away from the camp, but voices carried. "I simply meant that if I were going to be ashamed of any of my actions, I most certainly would not consider my feelings for you to be one of them."

The pain eased slightly. "Your… feelings."

"Maker's breath, we are not having this conversation right now," Dorian said, picking three plants clumped together. "Can we just… not talk about it for the moment? Can't we just let it be?"

"It would be easier to let it be if I knew what 'it' was," Fenris said, taking the plants from Dorian to carry.

"It. Sex. Or whatever," Dorian sputtered.

"Oh." But was that all it was for Dorian? While part of Fenris yearned for the physical – after all, his initial attraction to Dorian had never wavered from that first day, he would always find the man stunning – another part of him, perhaps a more selfish part, wanted more than that.

"And now you're irritatingly quiet. Have I said something?"

Fenris pulled up another plant, frowning as he remained crouched there, thinking. "I would stand with you, if it came to it. Through scandal or rumor. I would defend your name and your honor, if you would allow it."

Dorian didn't turn around, but Fenris saw him cover his face, taking a deep breath. And then he walked away. Was it the wrong thing to say? Fenris decided for now to let him go and returned to camp, to the shelter, to hand the elfroot to Fiona. Not wanting to return to the tent, not feeling tired at any rate, he made himself useful to her, grinding up the leaves against a flat rock. Perhaps in the morning, Dorian would want to talk again.

Then again, talking wasn't truly something either of them seemed to be good at.


	6. Chapter 6

Anders woke several nights later, and Fenris still hadn't confronted Dorian about their fight. If one could call it a fight. Disagreement? Argument? He wasn't sure. He lay next to him in their tent at night, allowed Dorian to hold him close, but he wasn't entirely comfortable. They rarely spoke and if they did, it was often in the company of others, and he found himself drawn more toward listening to what Cassandra and Cullen argued about. Where they would go next was the most prevalent topic of discussion. When Anders finally did wake, Solas pulled him aside, and it seemed they had a solution.

"Tarasyl'an Te'las," Solas called it. "Skyhold."

Though many were dubious about a fortress this far into the Frostbacks, there wasn't a single person who wouldn't follow Anders now. They'd seen him emerge from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, a Chantry-proclaimed heretic, propaganda calling him a madman, a maleficar who killed hundreds of people, only to believe that Andraste herself shielded him from harm. He healed the sky, closing the Breach, and then withstood an army. And not just the army, but the thing leading it. And when he was believed to be dead, he rose again to lead them to salvation.

Fenris wasn't sure what to make of it all. If it wasn't the Maker or Andraste guiding Anders, he might just happen to have the worst luck in the history of Thedas. Fenris knew the story of Andraste, how she followed the Maker's path, and the elf Shartan who helped her, though he was all but wiped from the Chant of Light. He wondered now if Solas was the Shartan to Anders' Andraste as he watched them walk together, talking quietly as they led their flock. Anders lightly touched Solas on the shoulder, and the elf smiled, nodding.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Dorian asked, walking level with Fenris.

A rare bit of conversation, and Fenris wasn't sure how to respond. "Skyhold, I expect. If it's as glorious as Solas is making it out to be. More likely we'll find a rundown ruin of a castle."

"That's quite the cynical attitude."

"It is not," Fenris snapped. "It's practical. Do you see anyone else around who might have been tending a castle in the mountains for hundreds of years?" He gestured at the wide expanse of white hills around them to emphasize his point.

Dorian scowled. "If you're just going to argue, we might as well go back to not speaking. It's preferable."

Fenris fought the urge to walk away from him, perhaps to join Cassandra and Cullen, or to pull forward and speak with Anders. They'd only had a few brief minutes to talk, after all, Anders assuring him he was all right, and asking after Fenris's health in return. But he didn't. "I expect it would be."

"…Now what in the Maker's name is that supposed to mean?" Dorian asked, annoyed.

"Exactly as I've said," Fenris replied. "Not speaking is preferable to arguing. I agree. Must you make everything out to be more than it is?"

"Must you?"

"And what have _I_ ever made out to be more than it is?" He paused. Unless Dorian didn't mean something he _said_. Perhaps he meant something Fenris _believed_. After all, every time Fenris brought up the idea of their relationship being more than just physical, more than just the prospect of a night or two of sex, Dorian deflected. Or fell asleep. Or started an argument. Was that it? "Oh."

"'Oh'?" Dorian asked. "And what conclusion have you drawn, then?"

Fenris was thinking how to best phrase the response when a cry rose up among the crowd. He looked up. In the distance he saw, as if rising from the clouds, an enormous fortress. He felt his breath leave him, stopping when the others did. Anders paused, hands on his hips and he turned to Solas, gesturing at the castle. Solas nodded and Anders smiled, saying something that Fenris couldn't hear.

The excitement in the survivors was palpable, rippling through the crowd like pure energy as Anders waved them on. Their pace quickened. No one wanted to stop. Salvation was in reach. Fenris tried to ignore the pain in his chest, the sick feeling in his stomach. This was a victory for the Inquisition. He should feel proud to be a part of something this big, but it almost felt as if it didn't matter. Emotions, confusing and hurtful, swirled in his mind. He turned over every moment with Dorian in the past few days again and again as they pushed toward Skyhold, the clouds and the mist clearing, parting, as if it were a divine hand sweeping away the fog and showing them the way.

He missed the almost ethereal beauty of the fortress as they crossed the ancient stone bridge. The construction beneath his feet was older than perhaps even recorded history. And he could barely enjoy any of it through his anger and frustration. His one consolation was that Dorian was just as miserable as he was. Or at least he hoped he was. And then immediately he felt guilty for that. Regardless of the animosity that waxed and waned between them, he was still there to keep him safe.

_Safe does not mean happy,_ he reminded himself.

"This place is…" Anders breathed. "Wow. There's just…"

"It has fallen to disrepair," Solas said, gesturing with his staff at the crumbling walls. "And we're likely to find remains of past inhabitants, but it is a fortress befitting the Inquisition. It will stand as a symbol, as you have, to our tenacity and proposed longevity."

Anders laughed, running a bandaged hand through his hair. He still looked weak, but vastly improved since the night Cullen and the others found him, and he walked steadily. "I… should make a speech or…"

Solas chuckled. "I doubt they're expecting that. Look, Cullen and Cassandra are taking control of things. Come. We should explore to see what repairs are needed."

"I need to speak to Leliana first," Anders said. "Hawke… he'll have heard. I want to make sure she sent her birds out, and with directions on how to find us."

Solas nodded. "Of course. Others will come as well. As they did to Haven. A pilgrimage to see the fabled Herald of Andraste, born again from the flames of a ruined town. Very symbolic."

Anders blushed, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "I suppose they will. Well. Maybe by the time they arrive, I'll have had a bath and a proper change of clothing."

Solas's lips quirked into a smile. "Indeed. I will meet you in the main hall, just up there," he said, pointing toward the stairs, and walked away.

"We should find a place to set up the tent," Dorian said idly, as they watched the others enter the castle courtyard. "Or claim a bedroom, if there are any. I suppose Cullen will be in charge of that."

"The soldiers deserve better accommodations," Fenris said. "Anywhere is fine. We're out of the snow."

"…So you'll still share space with me, then?"

Fenris sighed, feeling more tired than he'd been even after the battles they'd fought. Dorian looked at him, expression almost pleading, almost desperate. He wished Dorian would just say what was bothering him, how he felt. A part of him wanted to pull away, to tell him to find his own tent, or to have fun bedding the next person who came along. But he didn't want to. Despite his frustration, Fenris still cared for him very deeply. He loved him at the same time he was infuriated by him. And perhaps they could figure out this rift between them and heal it before it was too late.

"Yes," he said, and watched Dorian smile. A genuine grin, relief, and happiness. He leaned into Dorian's touch, fingers brushing his arm, but pulled away just as quickly. A passing bit of affection was fine. A kiss in the middle of the courtyard where so many could see them? He didn't want to start another argument. Not now. "Come. Let's ask Cullen if we're to be given a room." And Fenris led the way this time, through the crowd to find the Commander.


	7. Chapter 7

It was decided unanimously and with great enthusiasm that Anders be given the official title of 'Inquisitor.' Fenris was pleased and proud of his friend – for he truly thought of Anders as a friend now – for his accomplishment. Anders blushed, humbled with the crowd's cheer for him, for Cullen's declaration of his new position, and Cassandra's encouraging nod. Fenris watched him walk the castle, speaking with people randomly, shaking hands and accepting hugs and praise. He would make a fair, compassionate, and just leader.

But that was a week ago now and Solas, as it turned out, was right. Word spread surprisingly fast and every day more and more people poured into the fortress. Peasants, but soldiers and merchants, too. And, as Leliana warned, spies. The Chantry wanted to keep tabs on them, and there were many questions about Corypheus: if he was real, and what remained of the templars, who were walking monstrosities, giant behemoths with red lyrium crystals growing from their skin. Fenris had nightmares of fighting them at Haven, Dorian pulling him close and soothing him when he thrashed about.

They had their own room, barely big enough for a bed, dresser, and desk, but it was all Fenris ever needed. If Cullen thought it was odd that they shared a bed, he said nothing, and neither of them (as far as Fenris knew) became the cause of speculation around the castle. While he spent his days helping rebuild the castle, doing as he was ordered by the new quartermaster, his nights were spent with Dorian, retiring to their room after dining with the others, and curling up with him. They shared only a handful more kisses, but there was something definitely wrong. He felt less like Dorian's lover and more like his dirty little secret. At least while the topic of exclusivity hadn't exactly been discussed, Dorian appeared to understand and respect that was what Fenris wanted.

Oh he still flirted. Fenris expected that to a point. He learned long ago that the man possessed charm in spades and never seemed to be able to turn it off, even when it came to women. It was part of the reason Fenris was drawn to him in the first place, and he felt no jealousy there. But he knew he would feel better if Dorian acknowledged their relationship publicly. Not that he wanted Dorian to stand on the ramparts of Skyhold and declare it, but it seemed that every touch outside their room was carefully calculated. As if Dorian lingered a bit too long, someone would suddenly stand and point and shout, "Dorian Pavus is in love with an elven slave!"

It was ridiculous and it angered him, and he couldn't quite find a way to put it to words without knowing that it would start a terrible argument. And though he felt this way, it was preferable for now than sleeping alone. At least he found some respite when they were together with the few people Fenris felt comfortable with. They formed somewhat of a tight-knit group. Anders and Solas, who were near inseparable over the last week, Cullen and Cassandra, who'd bolstered Anders' natural leadership, and himself and Dorian. Sera deigned to skip evening meals with the group, always hating it when things got too heavy, as their talks often did. It started turning to the next step, which was the recruitment of others. Talks of a Qunari mercenary group interested in joining them floated around, but Anders didn't seem to be too keen on that. Fenris thought this understandable, even wise, considering what the Tale of the Champion had to say about the Qunari attacks on Kirkwall. He wasn't personally very fond of them, nor was Dorian, both of them living with the threat on their doorstep their whole lives. The name 'Blackwall' reemerged once more and Anders agreed to seek him out once Hawke came to Skyhold. He didn't want to leave without him, and no one pushed the issue.

Then there was one more person, though Fenris could hardly remember him. A boy, he thought. Scared and alone. He saw him in the courtyard, heard Cassandra and Solas and Anders arguing. It was for that reason that Fenris _did_ remember, as Solas rarely raised his voice, yet he seemed so very adamant about this. And Anders and Cassandra might have butted heads, but she was angrier than usual at the decision Anders made. And Fenris recalled that day. Cole was the boy's name. And Anders allowed him to stay. Fenris saw him once more, but avoided him, uncomfortable at the way his markings seemed to pulse when Cole drew too near. It felt like looking at himself in a mirror, though instead of a reflection of his physical self, it was a reflection of his memories, his soul. He hated it.

So in the Herald's Rest tavern at a table tucked away in the back of the room, he sat next to Dorian, eating with the others, enjoying a decent meal. The more merchants that made their way through Skyhold, the better they ate. A paddock of druffalo and chickens and pigs meant fresh milk and decent meat. He never gave much thought to farming, each city he visited or lived in always with fully stocked markets. It gave him a new respect for those who had to do it for a living, and it made him only want to work harder to make Skyhold habitable.

"It's okay to stop working," Anders was saying to Cullen, who brought paperwork with him to dinner. "We could have a talk about the old days instead."

Cullen laughed. "The old days? You mean when you tried to escape Kinloch by jumping out a five story window?"

"I did apologize for landing on you," Anders said, grinning.

"You dented my armor."

"And my punishment was to hammer it out!"

The door opened, banging off the wall with such force that the tavern went silent. The minstrel stopped strumming her lute, falling quiet, and all heads turned. Situated with his back to the door, behind a wall, Anders peered around the corner, and Fenris followed his gaze. Hawke stood in the doorway, travel worn, hair and beard looking shaggy and unkempt, his cloak covered in snow. Behind him was Varric, a little worse for wear but otherwise fine.

"Hawke," Anders breathed, getting to his feet.

He wasn't even fully out of his chair before Hawke was there, crushing him close, kissing him desperately. Anders seemed to melt into the embrace, clutching at his armor. It was as if they were the only two in the room, or in the world, as they clung to each other. Embarrassed clearing of throats, the sounds of shifting from the tavern's patrons as the kiss continued, Anders whimpering as Hawke claimed him. Hawke's gauntleted fingers gripped the back of Anders' head while the other wrapped around his waist, bending him back. Plates were moved quietly out of the way as Anders nearly hit the table, one hand smacking against the wood to try to keep his balance.

From somewhere above, Sera's voice, "Don't get a room or nothin' you two!"

"Some of us _are_ trying to eat," Cassandra said, though there was no real vitriol in her tone. In fact, if Fenris didn't know any better, he would have said there was a hint of a smile in her eyes.

Hawke finally pulled back, cupping Anders' face, looking at him intensely, foreheads pressed together. He kissed him again, softer this time. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Anders whispered, gripping his wrists. "I…" He looked back at the table. "I…"

"Go," Cullen said, waving them off. He was blushing slightly, embarrassed perhaps at the lack of propriety. "We'll discuss things in the morning. Or… afternoon."

Anders let Hawke pull him away with that, waving briefly with a, "Hi, Varric! Bye, Varric!" as he rushed to keep his feet.

The door closed and slowly the conversations kicked up again, the minstrel plucking her lute once more. Fenris stared at his plate, frowning. While he wasn't sure he had any desire for that amount of obvious physical affection in public, it had been so _easy_ for them. There were no apologies made, and everyone accepted it as fact that Hawke and Anders were together and intimate. Especially Hawke and Anders themselves. They truly didn't care what others thought and gave their love freely to one another, consequences be damned.

He looked at Dorian. "Will you join me for a walk?"

"I think I will," Dorian said, taking one last sip of wine. "I do want to hear more stories about your tales of the Inquisitor later," he said, pointing to Cullen as he stood, following Fenris.

"If there's time," Cullen promised.

Fenris said his good nights with Dorian, and led him outside.


	8. Chapter 8

Skyhold at night was quiet for the most part. Leliana's scouts and Cullen's soldiers patrolled the ramparts and the grounds. The lamps were always lit in the courtyard, healers on watch at all hours of the day and night in case they were needed. And while it was cold in the Frostback Mountains, the stone walls cut the chill wind, at least in the parts of the castle where they lacked the huge, gaping holes. During the day there were always people, walking, working, training. Fenris preferred this, but it made the silence between them awkward.

"Do you want to go back to our room?" Dorian asked carefully.

Conversation was tentative when they were alone, soft-spoken. Fenris missed the casual teasing they'd grown accustomed to. He missed being able to insult Dorian off-handedly, enjoying the mock hurt look on his face. They spent so many weeks traveling northern Thedas after departing Tevinter, and it all felt very right and natural. They were friends. Even Dorian would have said so. But what changed in the time since? If nothing else, the trials they faced should have made them grow closer, not slammed this wedge between them. Fenris would take their prior relationship over this, even if it meant he couldn't kiss Dorian anymore.

"No. I think that would make the conversation more difficult."

Dorian inhaled. "Ah. That… sounds ominous."

"I apologize," Fenris said quickly. "I didn't mean for it… It's nothing…" He sighed.

They didn't stop their walk, though with no real direction they ended up on the other side of the courtyard, then up a spiraling set of stairs. Fenris hadn't fully explored the castle yet, and quickly lost his bearings. He paused as they stepped inside a dark room, Dorian summoning a small wisp that flitted around, lighting up piles of rotting wood, an old stone bench, and creeping moss on almost every wall. Fenris crossed to the bench and sat down heavily as the wisp disappeared, and he listened to Dorian approach.

"Talk to me," Dorian urged, his voice soft.

Fenris saw him through the dim. He knelt down and placed a careful hand on Fenris's knee, warm through his leggings. 

Fenris shook his head with a sigh. "I thought this would be less complicated."

"It's been… well, yes. Complicated is the best word for it, really," Dorian agreed.

"Why?"

"Why is it complicated?" Dorian raised an eyebrow, as if he'd never asked himself the question, as if it was a complete surprise. "I… for a lot of reasons, I expect."

"Tell me. Tell me why you find it easy with others and not with me."

Dorian laughed, but it was almost self-deprecating. "My dear Fenris," he whispered. "Oh." He shook his head, chin falling to his chest as he let out a breath. He looked up again, and when he spoke, it was with a quiet, pained tone. "It's not easy with others. Especially not… If it's just sex, if that's all you wish and I don't think it is, then that… that might be easy. I could push aside the lingering doubts that I have, the voice that whispers in the back of my mind," he said, gesturing idly over his head. "'He's a slave, Dorian. You can't touch him like that. You'll be no better than all the others.' I _know_ ," he interrupted as Fenris started to say something. "I know it's not truth. You've been free for a very long time now, and it shows every day that you make your own decisions. That you're your own man. Elf," he corrected, with a twitch of his mustache.

Fenris kept quiet. This was the most Dorian had spoken to him in a long time about things that went deeper than the surface. He was used to hearing him deflect with humor and insults when it came to those he'd hold at arm's length. But Fenris knew how Dorian opened up to Felix and Alexius. He heard them speak plainly about serious topics, including Dorian's possible paths for the future. Of course, none of them had included joining the Inquisition, getting sent into a horrible future, fighting an army of crazed templars, and moving into a castle in the mountains.

"That's on me," Dorian continued. "Stepping over that mental block."

"Then… is it because I am an elf?"

Dorian shook his head. "The scandal it would bring though. Not that I care much or even at all. At this point, there are larger things in this world than centuries old racism. I think that everyone back home would likely agree with that once they realize what's happening."

Fenris pulled him up, sliding over so Dorian could sit next to him. "The fact that I'm not a woman, then. That your father would-"

Dorian took his hand. "My father," he said flatly, "has no say in my life anymore. He disowned me."

Fenris shifted uncomfortably, but allowed Dorian to entwine their fingers. "But if you were to return. The other mages, your friends…"

"Friends?" Dorian asked, sounding amused. "Oh do you mean Alexius and Felix? I think they'll understand, considering what they told you at Haven."

Fenris felt heat rise in his cheeks. "You… heard?"

"No, but it doesn't take a mind reader to figure things out. Felix kept giving me looks whenever you were near me. He's not exactly subtle. And Alexius… I'll need to talk to him. He's not my father, nor is he truly my patron any longer, so he won't have to deal with any fallout if word got around that I…"

"Took an elven lover?" Fenris guessed.

Dorian chuckled. "Yes. Tactfully put."

"Is that what we are?" Fenris asked, bringing the conversation back to the original topic.

"I… yes, if there was a name to put to it?" Dorian said, though he ended the statement in a question.

Fenris frowned. "What is it you want from me, Dorian? Because I know exactly what I want from you. I don't want to hide from the others. I don't care what they think."

"I don't… I…" Words failed him again, as they often did whenever they breached this subject.

Fenris turned to him, finger crooked under Dorian's chin so he could look at him. He looked scared, even through the darkness he could see that. Fenris let his hand drop, but Dorian held his gaze. "We are not in Tevinter," he started slowly. "I am not a slave. You have no expectations to live up to any longer. Tell me, and stop being afraid."

"Fenris," Dorian breathed. "Maker's breath, when did you become so bloody good at reading people. It's frankly terrifying."

Fenris could see the tears glistening in his eyes. "I don't know people. I know you."

Dorian swallowed thickly. "All right. Fair enough. I want… More. For us to be more. Not sex –" he laughed. "Sex, yes, definitely," he corrected quickly. "But more than that. For as long as possible."

"Until you grow tired of me?" Fenris asked, joking.

Dorian grinned. "More like you'd tire of me."

"That might happen," Fenris teased. "Especially if we need to travel by ship any time soon."

"You can't hold my seasickness against me!"

"I seem to recall you saying that you would 'make it up' to me," Fenris said.

"Did you have something in mind?" Dorian purred, leaning close.

Fenris allowed the kiss, the hand that slid onto his thigh, and moaned softly into Dorian's mouth. He reached up, fingers threading through soft brown locks, holding him there, heart beating quickly. He felt lighter than he had in some time, glad that he pushed, pleased that Dorian finally was able to voice what he wanted. He amused himself with the thought that he of all people helped Dorian remove his own shackles, the last chains that were holding him back from taking something he deserved.

"Mm. Perhaps we should go to bed now," Dorian said, slightly breathless. "For… well. Whatever you'd like. We'll move at your pace… _Amatus_ ," he whispered.

Fenris's stomach fluttered pleasantly at the endearment. "Perhaps… not tonight. Soon. I need to… It's another conversation we may need to have," he finished with a dry laugh. He refused to say Danarius's name right now, to give voice to the abuses that he suffered at his former master's hand. He didn't want to taint what they had now, not when it took this long to reach this point.

Dorian took his hand and kissed his knuckles. "I understand. Just sleep for now, and we'll talk when you're ready. Since you seem to be so good at initiating them." He stood, pulling Fenris with him. "Ah… back through the courtyard then?"

Fenris laughed. Dorian was as lost as he was. "Yes. I think so."

"Think they'll put up signs?" Dorian asked, leading him out, holding his hand loosely as they walked back outside.

Fenris shook his head, hoping that things would be normal now – or at least as normal as things tended to be with the Inquisition.


	9. Chapter 9

There was a corner in one of the towers in Skyhold where it was cool and dry, and therefore the best place for the books that were brought from Haven, and the ones that came to the Inquisition as donations. Fenris originally shied away from the area, feeling more useful in helping rebuild walls or cleaning out rooms to make them habitable. He still couldn't read very well and knew he would only slow down the cataloguing and alphabetizing of the library. But Dorian was drawn there, and like a moth to a flame, Fenris was drawn to Dorian. After breakfast he followed him up the stairs, nodding to Solas, who found an array of paints and was busy decorating the drab stone wall.

"It'll be fantastic once we have more," Dorian said, gesturing to the shelves. "I wrote Alexius already to assure him we both survived, but I think I'll send another letter to ask for donations. Perhaps he can start sewing ties to the Inquisition with the other upper houses. What do you think?"

It wasn't as grand as Alexius's own library, but that was understandable. Fenris stepped forward to look at some of the titles, pulling an ancient-looking volume from the shelf. "It will be impressive with his help," he agreed, and flipped open the pages. Immediately he blushed, looking at illustrations depicting two people mid-coitus.

"Mm," Dorian muttered, suddenly behind him. "That one looks like it might be my favorite. Where do you think it came from?"

Fenris let out a shaking breath, soft lips and a bristling mustache brushing over his cheek. He tilted his head, bearing his throat, inviting Dorian to continue. Dorian chuckled, causing Fenris to shiver, lyrium lines pulsing softly. A soft hand snaked down his arm, snapping the book shut, and Dorian replaced it carefully, trailing kisses up his neck. Fenris moaned quietly as a warm tongue traced the shell of his ear up to the tip. Dorian forced him forward, pinning him against the shelf, and entwined the fingers of his right hand with Fenris's, splaying his other against the books on the shelf above them. Fenris leaned back, letting his head drop to Dorian's shoulder, groaning softly as teeth scraped over the sensitive flesh of his throat.

"I suddenly have this fantasy," Dorian whispered, "of taking you here, perhaps over the railing. Solas is just downstairs, he would hear every bit of it. Might even look up to watch."

Fenris's eyes opened – he hadn't realized he'd closed them – and he pushed back just enough to get Dorian to step away, and turned in his arms, looking at him. "Something we should…"

"Shh," Dorian hushed him. "A discussion for another time. Right now, I just want to enjoy this."

Fenris gasped into the kiss that followed, felt Dorian's thigh slide between his legs. The shelves were uncomfortable, digging into his back, but he didn't care. It was almost surreal, Dorian's hand at his waist, the other gripping his wrist tightly. He reached up, free hand against Dorian's shoulder, taut muscle beneath the silken tunic. Fenris was tempted to rip it off, to shove Dorian down and claim him, a possessive neediness growing inside him. Dorian released his wrist, hands moving lower to his backside, squeezing. They moved to the underside of his thighs and Fenris felt his feet leave the ground as Dorian picked him up.

"Maker," Dorian chuckled, breaking the kiss. "You're heavier than you look."

Fenris growled, grabbing his collar and kissed him again, wrapping his legs around Dorian's middle. One hand reached back above himself to the shelf for leverage, to take some of his own weight from Dorian as they kissed. He felt Dorian's cock harden, pressed against the swell of his ass. He could let go, drop down and kneel, tear open his trousers and finish him off. A part of him wanted that, to submit, to take care of Dorian's needs. Another part wanted Dorian inside him. Right here in the tower where anyone could hear them – where Solas _would_ hear them, just as Dorian said.

And yet still another part demanded that their positions be reversed. To take Dorian. What would it feel like to have that kind of power, to shove Dorian to his hands and knees and thrust inside him? A vision came to him as Dorian's lips fell to his neck once more, a memory of the past in his mind's eye. A weathered, wrinkled hand in his own hair, pulling his head back as his master fucked him, the burning pain, but instead of the acceptance he felt at his punishment then, now he felt only embarrassment and shame.

"Stop," he breathed, pushing at Dorian. "Stop!"

Dorian stopped at once, releasing him, letting him drop to the floor. "What is it?" he asked, cupping his cheek, immediately gentle, full of concern.

"I…" Fenris took a few shuddering breaths, trying to clear his head. His markings glowed dully, though amidst the somewhat dim room they were annoyingly bright, the morning sun barely able to peek through the dirty windows. The memory faded, leaving him cold. "I don't know. I thought… I'm sorry."

"Hush," Dorian said gently, and kissed him chastely, reassuring. "We move at your pace, Amatus."

"You call me that so easily," Fenris said, looking down, arms wrapping around himself, seeking comfort.

"I do mean it," Dorian assured him, guiding his face back so he could look at him. "I can't say that I've felt this way about anyone, truly. And I know I'm not exactly the easiest person to get along with. Something Felix used to remind me daily. But to imagine a life without you in it, whether romantically or otherwise, Fenris… you are one of my dearest friends. I would never want to hurt you."

Fenris covered Dorian's hand with his own, smiling softly, feeling stupid. Dorian wasn't Danarius. He had a feeling he would be repeating this to himself and to Dorian as their relationship progressed. "I'm sorry for-"

"Shh."

"What?"

"You apologize too much." Dorian smiled and kissed him again, another brush of the lips. "What would it be this time? 'I'm sorry Dorian for being so bloody irresistible'? 'I'm sorry, Dorian for distracting you with my devastatingly handsome face'? Or maybe, 'I'm sorry that you can't seem to keep your hands off me to the point where all you can do is think about what I look like in the throes of passion'?"

"In the throes of passion?" Fenris snorted. "You've been reading too many horrible romance novels."

"It's not my fault," Dorian said defensively. "Cassandra loaned me one and I couldn't help but marvel at how something so badly written could be unleashed upon the unsuspecting public."

"Mm." Fenris leaned up again and kissed him, unsure what he wanted, unsure if it was wise to rile them both up again when he didn't know whether or not he could finish what he started. "Are you truly all right with…"

"Hm? With what?"

"Not having…" He sighed. "Being patient." Fenris's eyes flicked down to the obvious bulge in Dorian's trousers, then back up.

Dorian leaned in to nuzzle gently against his ear. "Yes. This isn't a quick tryst or a trip to the brothel for me, Fenris. We'll move forward when you allow it. But you'll need to tell me if it's too much. I can be a bit… over amorous."

"I hadn't noticed," Fenris said dryly, gesturing at Dorian's hands, which were running slowly up and down his sides.

"You can't fault me for wanting to touch every inch of you," Dorian said, voice soft and silken. "I enjoy your body very much."

Fenris laughed, embarrassed. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks under Dorian's intense stare. "It… ah… Hm." Dorian's hand slipped under his tunic, distracting him thoroughly. "Don't touch – AH!" He squirmed as fingers brushed his side, tickling him, and he stepped out from the embrace, away from the shelf.

Dorian grinned wickedly. "Oh I'm going to have so much fun finding out all _those_ spots."

"Don't," Fenris said, shoving his hand away as he reached again. "Don't even think about it."

"To have you writhing underneath me," Dorian said. He licked his lips, backing Fenris into an alcove.

"I mean it!" Fenris said, hands up to defend himself.

"As much as I dislike interrupting," Solas said, appearing from around the corner.

Dorian turned. "You do have the worst timing."

Solas smiled apologetically. "The Herald is awake. We need to discuss what comes next, and he's requested both of you to be present in the war room. I would have let Cullen come up to inform you, however-"

Dorian laughed. "He may have died of shock." He smoothed his shirt. "We'll be there in two minutes."

Solas nodded, glancing at Fenris with the same smile before leaving them.

"Shall we?" Dorian asked, looking over himself to make sure he was presentable.

Fenris nodded. "You… really don't mind that the others know?"

Dorian took his hand, interlacing their fingers, and brushed his lips over Fenris's knuckles. "Perhaps we should abstain from any future exuberant public performances, but I think it would be very difficult for me to hide this now that we've… Ah."

"Hm?"

Dorian tugged on his hand, pulling him down the stairs. "Now that I've decided to stop acting like an ass."

Fenris laughed. "If that actually happened, it would be more of a shock than a giant hole in the sky."

But he was pleased and felt more relaxed than he had in a long time, walking hand-in-hand into the war room with Dorian.


	10. Chapter 10

Awkward tension filled the war room, and Fenris couldn't quite put his finger on why. Many people were gathered there, Varric nodding to them when they walked in. Cassandra and Cullen were arguing once again, gesturing at the large table with the map of Thedas on it. Leliana was in the corner discussing something with Josephine. Solas leaned carefully against the wall near the window, arms crossed, and Cole sat on the sill, legs dangling, heels banging idly as he rocked slowly back and forth. Hawke and Anders were there as well, but oddly not next to one another, the latter standing between Cassandra and Cullen with a tired expression on his face. 

"We ought to make a rule," Fenris heard him say amidst the multiple conversations, "that there is no fighting allowed in the war room."

Fenris released Dorian's hand to approach Hawke, not having had the opportunity to talk to him the previous night. His preoccupation with getting to Anders was understandable though, all things considered.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

Hawke grunted. "Glad _you_ are," he said, uncrossing his arms. "Just heard some bad news. News I should have been made aware of."

Fenris wondered what that meant, following Hawke's gaze toward Anders. Was there something Anders hadn't told Hawke? He decided not to press. "Did you find that Warden? Stroud?"

"I did, right before I heard about Haven. Nasty business. It's a miracle so many of you made it out alive."

"Anders told us that er… Corypheus? That you killed him. But he withheld the full story."

Hawke shrugged. "Waiting for me, I guess. There's not much to tell. He was there with me, though. We killed him. Corypheus was dead."

Fenris huffed. "Is that it?"

"Yes, is that it?" Dorian asked, approaching. His hand found the small of Fenris's back, comfortable and close.

Fenris, while pleased that Dorian seemed to be taking his request seriously about not hiding their relationship, wondered idly if he was doing it now solely to annoy Hawke. It seemed to be a habit of his. Hawke's eyes flicked to where they touched, to how Fenris leaned ever so slightly into it, and then back to Fenris. He ignored the question and stepped forward to the center of the room.

"Yes, we should begin," Cullen said, seeing Hawke approach.

"Let's start with the fact that an ancient dead darkspawn somehow came back to life, gathered an army of magisters and red templars, and is laying waste to cities trying to find Anders."

Cullen cleared his throat at Hawke's declaration, but Cassandra spoke first. "Corypheus. The Elder One. You said you killed him. Anders-"

"We did," Hawke said bluntly. "He was trapped in a Grey Warden prison. My father helped strengthen the seals keeping him there. We met a few Wardens down there who explained it all."

"And then?" Cassandra prompted.

"We broke open the seals."

Fenris felt Dorian tense up next to him. There were many looks of bewilderment exchanged among the others.

"Why?" Cassandra asked, giving voice to the question on everyone's mind.

"So we could kill him." Hawke looked at Anders. "Now, if you want to explain the rest of it."

Anders frowned, straightening. He looked extremely uncomfortable, and Fenris wondered what caused the contention between him and Hawke. "Hawke found Stroud and discovered that the Wardens have been hearing a… their Calling."

This was clearly a big deal, though Fenris had no idea what it meant. He looked to Dorian who shrugged, shaking his head, obviously not understanding it either.

Anders sighed. "It's like a… song in the back of your head when you join the Wardens. To become a Warden, it's a gift but it also severely shortens your lifespan. You can always sense the darkspawn, hearing them if they get too close. The Calling signifies the end of your life. Wardens traditionally forge the Deep Roads at that time to kill as many darkspawn as they can before they die."

"The Wardens have all been hearing it," Hawke said. "All of them. Stroud said as much when we found him."

"So all the Wardens think that they are dying?" Leliana said, arms crossed, frowning. "Is it true? Are they?"

Anders shook his head. "I don't think so. When we killed Corypheus the first time, I heard him in my head. Before this happened, I heard him again, but I thought it was just a nightmare. I didn't think anything of it."

"You didn't think it could be your own Calling?" Cassandra asked.

"No, it was too soon. It's usually thirty years, give or take. I… would have said something," he said, looking up at Hawke earnestly.

Hawke's jaw was hard set, his arms crossed. Fenris realized the reason for the tension. Anders had been hearing his Calling, and Hawke likely found out through Stroud. He looked at Dorian, wondering how he would feel if Dorian knew or even thought he was dying and didn't say anything. Angry. But scared. Hawke, he felt, was justified. However, it wasn't his place to say anything about their relationship.

"So Corypheus is… mimicking this Calling?" Cullen asked. "And the Wardens have all, what? Gone off to die in the Deep Roads?"

"The mimicking yes," Hawke said, "but Stroud said they all went to Orlais."

"But the Wardens I tried to contact in Orlais were-"

"Missing," Hawke finished for Leliana. "That's because they're not in any of the cities. They're in the-"

"Western Approach," Dorian said suddenly. "Of course!"

All eyes turned to him. Hawke frowned. "How do you-"

"Because it fits," Dorian said, stepping up to the war table. He tapped Minrathous at the top of the map. "Grey Wardens showing up in Tevinter in spades. Fairly unusual, as you don't see a lot of darkspawn activity there. The Grey Wardens who saved Fenris and Felix were heading toward the city. They asked questions about Alexius after they found out he was a magister." He looked at Fenris. "Right?"

Fenris nodded. It seemed odd to him at the time, but he'd since forgotten about that day. It seemed ages ago now.

"Why would Grey Wardens want to know about a magister?" Dorian postured. "It doesn't make sense. But then Alexius said that Erimond and Servis were sent out to the Western Approach as part of whatever it was they were doing for the Venatori. We saw Venatori with Corypheus, and templars. At first I just thought Corypheus was making a grab for power in Tevinter, but he seems to be snatching it up wherever he can. And," he continued, somewhat breathless, "if he can mimic this Calling, scaring all the Grey Wardens, it stands to reason that the Wardens would look anywhere for help. Even to the 'evil mages' in Tevinter."

"And you think that these Venatori agents went to the Western Approach to… what?" Anders asked, moving two small metal pieces on the map down toward Orlais.

Dorian took them and moved them into position. "That's the question. Something to do with the Grey Wardens, no doubt. It makes too much sense. It fits too perfectly to be a coincidence."

"So we need to head to the Western Approach," Anders sighed. "What's there, exactly?" he asked, looking down at the map, his fingers tracing the Abyssal Rift. 

"Stroud said there was a Grey Warden fortress," Hawke said, approaching the table. He took one of the pieces and placed it approximately on the map. "He'll come with us if we can keep him safe from the others."

"Safe?" Cassandra asked.

Hawke nodded. "He opposed whatever plan his Warden Commander had. He ran. That's why we were able to find him in the Free Marches. Well. Varric's contacts."

"Took a fair bit of gold," Varric acknowledged.

"You'll be compensated," Josephine said, scribbling something down.

"The Warden Commander?" Anders asked.

"Not yours," Hawke corrected. "A woman named Clarel. Probably Orlesian. But I think we should go west to the fortress. Stroud will be useful."

"There's Blackwall," Anders added. "We should see if we can find him. The Warden Leliana's people found."

"So we have a plan," Cassandra said. "See if this Blackwall has any more information. He may be a deserter from the Wardens, so expect opposition. I will come with you."

Anders smirked. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"That's a good idea," Hawke said, ignoring Anders' indignant huff. "Anyone else?" He glanced around the room.

"Solas?" Anders asked, turning to look at him.

"I believe my expertise may come in handy when we reach Adamant Fortress. Cole has been there, and from what he said, there may be many unsettled spirits with which to contend."

There was a slight bit of confusion as heads turned to look at Cole, a few uttered noises of surprise at seeing him there.

"But I will stay at Skyhold while you fetch this Blackwall. We have little information and I'd like to spend the time researching what we've found so far."

Anders nodded, but there was a hint of disappointment in his expression.

"While you are in the Hinterlands," Leliana said, "Josephine and I will see if we can arrange a meeting with Empress Celene. She's not responded to any of our correspondence yet, and it's likely the messages aren't getting through with the fighting."

"Right," Anders said, sighing. "A personal meeting with the Empress of Orlais." He sounded unsure.

Josephine smiled, touching his shoulder gently. "We'll prepare you, Inquisitor. Do not worry."

Though he still looked apprehensive, Anders returned the smile. "I suppose we're finished here."

"I will have my scouts look into Adamant Fortress in the meantime," Leliana assured him.

Decisions made, they filed out of the war room, and Fenris hoped whatever they found in the Western Approach was less terrifying than their previous dealings with the Venatori.


	11. Chapter 11

"I was wondering if you were still interested in taking a trip through the Fade, all things considered," Solas said, as Fenris approached him.

Fenris glanced up, looking at the art that Solas painted. From ceiling to floor, a gorgeous depiction of the forming of the Inquisition and the Breach. He wandered over, idly running his finger over the painted stone, looking at the giant sword with the Inquisition's eye inlaid in the hilt.

"Wolves?" Fenris asked, turning back.

"I enjoy them. Sleek, agile hunters. They can do well alone or in a pack, and they are fiercely loyal creatures."

Fenris felt the heat rising in his cheeks and he turned again to examine further. "There are several wolves in your painting."

"I suppose it's symbolic," Solas said easily, "or perhaps I just got carried away."

"They're beautiful," Fenris said. And they were. "I don't think I could ever draw something like that."

Solas chuckled. "Not all artists wield a paintbrush." He gestured to the couch opposite, and sat down at the desk he'd claimed for his own. "Even if I practiced for a thousand years, I could never dance the way you do with a sword."

Fenris found himself embarrassed once again at the compliment, sitting heavily on the couch. "Why didn't you go with Anders and Hawke?" Solas struck him as an extremely curious person. Traveling out to the Hinterlands would prove more interest than sitting in Skyhold for days.

"Several reasons, one of which I spoke the truth. There is so little information we have, but much to be discovered. I thought my talents were better put to use here rather than traipsing across the Hinterlands again for a wayward Grey Warden. Why didn't you go?" he asked lightly.

"I… thought I was better put to use here as well, I suppose."

"Mm. And it's nothing to do with Dorian's remaining here?"

"Hm." Fenris smirked. "Perhaps a bit. He doesn't get along very well with Hawke."

"Hawke is a… different entity altogether," Solas acknowledged. "So much pain in such a short life. And unwavering in his beliefs, molded by his own anger that he finds difficult to let go."

"Do you do that often?" Fenris asked. "Analyze people?"

Solas laughed lightly. "No. I draw conclusions from what I see and what I've been told. Anders speaks of him often."

"I was thinking-" Fenris cut off, embarrassed at what he was about to say.

"There is no judgment here for your thoughts, Fenris."

"That if he was Andraste, you would be his Shartan," Fenris said lamely.

Solas smiled. "Do you know the story of Shartan? Here, let us walk."

Fenris stood from the couch and followed Solas out of the tower, through a door he'd never taken before. They were in a field, which Fenris found odd. A field in Skyhold? From his bearings, they should have been somewhere near the stables, perhaps. But he didn't ask, enjoying the fresh air and warm breeze, even here in the mountains.

"I've… heard of it," Fenris admitted. "They don't tell the story to slaves."

"I imagine they wouldn't. The Tevinter Imperium doesn't hold Andraste in high regards either."

"No," Fenris laughed. "No. They don't."

The field felt familiar somehow as they moved through it and Fenris glanced behind him. Wheat growing in stalks waist high, an ocean of yellow gold. In the distance, not Skyhold, not a castle, but a huge sprawling estate. He paused, frowning.

"I know this."

"I would hope so," Solas said, amused. "It is in your head, after all."

"My…"

This was a memory. Or a dream. The sky was a beautiful blue, barely a cloud to be seen. He looked up, feeling the sun on his face and closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them again, they were inside the courtyard. It was overgrown, the gardens needed weeding. A rectangular stone pond sat in the middle, two fountains shaped like dragons on either end, mouths open, but silent. The sound of a child's laughter.

"Where are you?" A little girl dressed in silken skirts appeared suddenly, materializing out of the air like mist. "You can't hide forever! I'm going to find you!" She giggled.

Fenris frowned, looking at her bright red hair, trying to remember… something. He was certain he'd never met her; she wasn't one of the children of any of the families either Danarius or Alexius entertained. At any rate, she was elven, not human.

"Shh. Don't tell her where I am."

Fenris looked down. A small boy, also elven, his pointed ears poking through his shaggy hair, looked up at him from where he was hiding behind one of the fountains. He held a finger to his lips, grinning, his chubby cheeks flushed with excitement. Fenris realized with a jolt that he was looking at himself. But his skin lacked the now-familiar lines of lyrium. He brought his own finger to his lips in agreement. The girl however, didn't seem to see either himself or Solas as she flounced through the courtyard.

"Mother's looking for us! Where are you-"

"Leto," Fenris whispered.

"Leto?" she finished.

Fenris – Leto – sprung out from behind the fountain, arms raised, and growled loudly. The girl shrieked and smacked at him playfully.

"I'm a monster!" Leto shouted. "You better run! I'm coming to eat you up!"

Fenris wrapped his arms around himself, one hand coming up to cover his mouth, unable to stop the emotion welling in his chest. He remembered this. They played until nightfall. The courtyard grew dark quickly around them and the scene shifted slowly. An arena. Not as large as the Proving Grounds in Minrathous, but still impressive. They stood in a sprawling yard behind a large estate that Fenris recognized immediately. Until somewhat recently, it was where he lived, before he was sold to Alexius.

"Danarius," he said, and reached automatically for his sword that wasn't there.

"He cannot hurt you," Solas, silent until now, whispered.

Danarius was there, and as they walked toward a ring of people, Fenris could see him. He looked younger, though his dark hair and beard were shot through with grey. He looked distinguished and powerful as ever, staff in hand. The clanging of swords caught Fenris's attention, and he looked at the boys fighting in the makeshift ring. Someone clapped, and the boys stepped apart. He saw himself, still lyrium-free, shirtless and sweating. His chest was bruised, a few cuts marring the skin. The other boy, a human, bled from more than one wound, and his eye was swollen shut. Neither he nor the human looked much older than twelve or thirteen.

"Yield?" someone in the crowd asked.

"No," the human said, heaving. "No. I won't."

"Never," his younger self said, glaring at the human.

"Hand to hand," Danarius said smoothly, gesturing.

Two slaves moved from the crowd and collected the swords. Younger Fenris – or Leto, he supposed - stretched his shoulders, arms swinging back and forward. He glanced to the crowd and Fenris followed his eyes. The redhead girl, now nearly a woman, stood next to another, both looking pensive. Leto nodded to them, fell into an easy crouch.

"Begin," Danarius ordered.

The fight was brutal. Fenris felt a twinge in his back when the human boy dropped Leto to the ground. A very old wound that pained him occasionally. He took a blow to the face, spitting blood, and quickly flipped them so the human was on the bottom. A vicious punch to the stomach left the human writhing, and then two more to the face and Fenris heard him cry for mercy.

"I yield!"

Danarius held a hand up, stopping his slaves from moving forward. The crowd shifted uneasily, but it seemed no one wanted to challenge the magister. Fenris watched his younger self, an incandescent rage taking hold, the sound of bone crunching against bone as he continued to drive his fists into the human's face again and again. The boy stopped moving, arms dropping to the grass, no longer able to defend himself. Unconscious.

"Fenris."

"Yes, Master," he heard himself say, as the young Fenris did as well, immediately getting up.

Fenris blanched as his younger self turn to Danarius, fists and chest spattered with blood, hair sweaty, hanging in his eyes. His sister and mother watched, both wide-eyed and fearful.

"I believe we have a clear winner," Danarius said. "Well done, Little Wolf. What would you have of your new master?"

Younger Fenris caught his breath, getting to one knee, bowing his head. "Freedom for my mother and sister, Master."

Danarius nodded. "Done. Come. You must get cleaned up and ready for the ceremony. You fought well to receive this gift, my pet."

The vision faded slowly and Fenris blinked, opening his eyes. He was back in Skyhold, laying on the couch, Solas looking down at him.

"Are you well?" Solas asked, reaching out.

Fenris smacked his hand away without thinking. "No. No magic. Don't touch me," he growled, sitting up. "It's fine. I… have to go."

Solas didn't follow him.


	12. Chapter 12

"Usually I see Cassandra stabbing the poor dummies to death."

Fenris ignored Dorian for now, the training sword smacking hard against the hay-stuffed burlap sacks. Golden bits of straw poked from the seams and he pivoted before bringing the heavy broadsword down with enough force to shake the wooden pole.

"Something the matter, then?"

Fenris growled, stepping forward, taking another swing, turning the sword in his hand. He spun, intending on using all his weight with the last blow, and was caught mid-swing by Dorian's staff, which thrummed with magical energy. His markings flared with the proximity and he hissed, stepping back quickly, dropping the sword, shaking his hands as if trying to rid himself of the sudden surge of electricity he felt in his skin.

"Will you talk to me?" Dorian asked, leaning down to pick up the sword. "Was it something I did?"

"No," Fenris scowled. He leaned down, plucking his tunic from the ground and pulled it over his head.

"Then…"

He should tell him. After all, Dorian wasn't the issue now. And Fenris didn't want to inadvertently start another fight. But how could he? He just wanted to hit something. To drive his fist through someone and rip their heart from their chest. His first choice would be Danarius, but he wasn't here. Killing him in the future vision had been so cathartic. He should have gone to the dungeons when he had the chance. He should have killed him for real. And now Danarius was presumably dead, buried under rubble and snow.

_I hope he suffered,_ he thought savagely. Then he looked to Dorian, eyes full of concern, a slight frown to his lips.

"Not here," Fenris whispered.

If he could trust Solas with his memories, he could trust Dorian with them as well. And perhaps Dorian would offer him more than simple empty reassurance. But this wasn't what he'd been hoping for when he agreed to try to recall his memories. He never would have imagined that he not only wanted the markings, but fought for them. Killed for them.

Dorian nodded. "I know a place we won't be interrupted." He placed the training sword back on the rack and reached his hand out.

Fenris hesitated but took it, and followed Dorian across the courtyard. Those who'd seen him in Haven barely gave him a second glance. Most of them knew him as a friend to the Inquisitor, an elf deserving of respect. Some, however, still gaped openly at his appearance. No one was brave enough to approach him, though. The fewer people around him, the better. He could do more good for the Inquisition if he didn't have to field questions about his marks.

Dorian led him through a door and down a winding set of stairs that Fenris had never seen before. "Just through here," he promised.

The door opened to a long underground hall, and Fenris sneezed, the dust and cobwebs thick. Dorian laughed and pushed open another door to reveal a cellar full of wine casks and bottles, hundreds of them tucked into the racks lining the walls, rising up at least twenty feet to the high-arched ceiling.

"Marvelous, isn't it? I doubt the Inquisitor's found this place yet. And judging from the dust, no one else has either. This great ruin of a castle and no one's explored. Well, perhaps Solas has but he's less interested in wine and more about – Fenris?"

Shoulders shaking, Fenris turned from Dorian, hand on the wall. His legs gave way and Dorian was there, kneeling next to him, pushing his hair back out of his eyes, peering into his face.

"Fenris?"

Fenris closed his eyes, tears finally rolling down his cheeks. It was too much. He'd fled from the visions, angry and scared and found the first thing that was familiar to him. Wielding a sword, fighting, he forced himself to forget his past again, brutally shoving the memories away. He focused on the weight and balance of the training sword, the swish through the air, the _thwack_ as it smacked the burlap sack. The reverberation in the metal, how it felt in his hand, up his arms. How he broke into a sweat, the feel of the grass under his feet, for he found himself much more comfortable without his usual leather boots if they weren't traveling. The mark of a slave, at least for him.

He leaned against Dorian's chest, drawing comfort from his arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders, the gentle kisses pressed to his hair. He should feel ashamed, embarrassed, crying like a child in Dorian's arms. But what the memories evoked in him, Dorian's touch calmed, and he settled, sniffling quietly. Dorian slowly released him, embrace loose enough so he could look at him.

"I remembered," Fenris said, before Dorian could ask. He pulled his knees up close to his chest, arms wrapped around them. The short-sleeves of the tunic he wore showed the swirling lyrium from his elbows to his fingertips. They were dull now, whitish silver, looking no more curious than a Dalish's vallaslin. He ran his thumb along the ones near his wrist. "I remembered how I got them."

Dorian settled next to him, their backs against one of the wine racks, arm still protectively around Fenris. "From Danarius."

Fenris nodded. "But I remember… I saw the memory."

"What do you mean you saw it?"

"I spoke with Solas. Thought I wanted to remember what happened before I received them. The childhood I'd forgotten. The pain I felt, the agony of the lyrium being burned into my flesh, it was a mercy to forget."

Dorian reached up, pulling a random wine bottle from the rack. With concentrated effort, he popped the cork, sniffed, sipped, then handed it to Fenris. "You told Solas you wanted this? He didn't push you into it?"

Fenris took the bottle and drank deeply, calming a bit as the sharp tangy alcohol warmed his belly. He stretched out his legs in front of him and pulled a scrap of cloth from the pouch on his belt. The expensive pearl-colored silk was a bit stained, but still intact, the hand-embroidered blue and purple peacock in the corner still bright and colorful. He used it to wipe the tears from his face.

"…I can't believe you kept that," Dorian said. "I gave that to you, what…"

"A long time ago," Fenris acknowledged. "It's mine. You can't have it back."

Dorian laughed softly. "No. It's yours. But do have it washed. It looks a mess."

Fenris sniffed and took another swig of the bottle before offering it to Dorian. "Solas did not push," he confirmed. Though it would have been nice to prepare for the journey, he was sure Solas meant no harm. Regardless of intention, though… "I wasn't ready to see…"

"Do you want to tell me?" Dorian asked, taking a sip.

They passed the bottle back and forth for a time, Fenris trying to figure out how best to put his feelings into words.

"I fought for them. I fought hard," he said, the wine going to his head. He'd not eaten much and his emotional state didn't help. "Danarius was there, he let me… I think I killed the other boy. The one who wanted it. He would have used the boon given to save his father's failing business. I… freed my mother and sister. I remember her. Varania. She had red hair."

"Do you want me to see if we could find them?" Dorian asked carefully.

Fenris eyed the level of wine in the bottle and took another swig. He was feeling warm and comfortable, leaning on Dorian. The room was spinning slightly, but everything seemed easier now somehow. "I don't know. What would it accomplish? What would I even say?"

"Whatever you'd like," Dorian suggested. "Just to say hello. To see what they've been up to. To let them know that you're alive and safe and doing great things."

Fenris snorted. "Great things."

"The Inquisition. It's a noble cause. And you're a part of it. An invaluable part." He reached for the wine, tutting when Fenris pulled it from his reach. "I think you've had quite enough."

"I shared."

Dorian took the bottle from him and drained the last in two swallows before setting it aside. "It's your decision. Probably one best made sober. So we'll leave it for now. But if you ever want to contact them, I will find them for you."

"…I shouldn't have killed that boy," Fenris muttered against Dorian's shoulder.

"We all have things in our past we regret," Dorian acknowledged. "You had less of a choice than most. And blaming yourself for what happened won't help anything. All you can do is try to make decisions now that you can be proud of later."

"You regret?"

"Do I regret what?" Dorian asked, kissing the top of his head.

"Me."

Dorian laughed. "No. No, my dear, dear Fenris," he said, pushing him upright, cupping his chin. "I most certainly do not regret _you_."

"You can… Hum." Fenris searched for the words buzzing around his brain. There was a warm curl of anticipation in his stomach as he found them. "Fuck me."

"Oh I very much am looking forward to that," Dorian agreed.

"Here?"

"In a dirty, musty, cobweb-infested wine cellar? You _are_ rather kinky, Fenris, I'll give you that. But no, I'd rather prefer that our first time together be a bit more romantic. With you a bit more sober. So we can both enjoy it."

"I can…" Fenris reached for Dorian's trousers, determined to show him how much he meant to him. That even if he fought for these foul markings, had _killed_ to get them, that he would be better, could be better.

Dorian grabbed his hands. "Ah-ah. I think we should get you to bed."

"Bed?"

"To sleep," Dorian clarified. "With a glass of water and a potion to heal your inevitable hangover. Up you get." He stood and pulled Fenris to his feet.

The world spun as he swayed, tipping into Dorian's arms. He leaned up and kissed him, pleased when Dorian allowed that. "Mm. Taste like wine."

"I imagine you do a bit more than I, love. Come." 

Dorian wrapped his arm around Fenris's waist and helped him out of the wine cellar, down several halls that Fenris didn't recognize until they were outside their room. Dorian kicked the door shut behind them.

"Stay," Fenris asked, getting into bed. He pulled his shirt off clumsily and tossed it to the floor.

He watched Dorian pull a book from the pile on the desk and moved over to make room when he sat down. Boots off, Dorian slid into bed and Fenris curled around his lower half, head in his lap. He sighed happily when Dorian's hand settled atop his head and he fell asleep quickly, memories of his past forgotten for now.


	13. Chapter 13

Fenris was grateful when neither Dorian nor Solas brought up his missing memories again in the time it took for Anders to return to Skyhold. Two Wardens were in tow: Stroud, who spoke little other than to greet them, and mostly conversed with Cullen regarding troop movements toward Adamant; and Blackwall, who Fenris found to be a slightly odd, if capable warrior. He was a loner, something Fenris could respect, but there was something sad about him that he couldn't quite put his finger on. There wasn't much time to talk, however, as Anders requested both he and Dorian accompany them to Adamant Fortress.

They were moving en masse now, a large force that would be akin to a vanguard. Anders and Hawke, Stroud and Blackwall, a handful of Cullen's soldiers and Leliana's scouts. Cassandra insisted on coming as well. Solas walked on Anders' opposite side, but both Sera and Cole deigned to stay at Skyhold, agreeing instead to go with Varric to find out more about the Qunari mercenary. Hawke remained skeptical, but Varric promised to judge fairly, and wished them luck on their journey.

"It is not their Calling they think they're hearing," Stroud clarified on the road. "But the call of an Archdemon. They think the darkspawn are close to finding an Old God."

"But it's Corypheus," Anders insisted. "And not all the Wardens are hearing it. Or affected by it. You, for example. Blackwall. There have to be others."

"I do hear it," Stroud confirmed.

"Then why didn't you go with Clarel and the others?"

"More importantly," Dorian cut in, "why would they seek out the Venatori if they didn't think they were dying? One would think that's the only reason the Wardens had to venture into Tevinter."

"Because they still found uses for the Venatori's magic. This is something I did not tell you," Stroud said carefully.

Fenris was glad he wasn't in Stroud's position. Anders' mouth was set in a hard line and Hawke looked frankly murderous.

"When we _asked_ for your help," Hawke growled, "we were hoping to get the full story. What are you not telling us?"

"The Warden-Commander's plan," Stroud said, nonplussed by Hawke's anger. "She sought the Venatori, in truth, any magister who would help, and the decision was made to forge the Deep Roads to kill the Old Gods before the darkspawn could corrupt them and make them Archdemons."

"A good idea in theory," Dorian said thoughtfully. "Not so much in practice?"

"It is not just that," Stroud said.

"Oh good, there's more," Anders said dryly.

"Clarel's plan involved the use of blood magic."

"What?" Hawke ground out, fists clenched as looked sidelong at him.

"Tevinter supremacists and blood magic, why am I not surprised?" Dorian asked, trying to keep his tone light, but Fenris noticed how his voice wavered a bit.

"With blood magic and demons, they could enter the Deep Roads and be a formidable force against the darkspawn."

"Grey Wardens already _are_ ," Anders insisted. "Sure most of them are uptight, boring, stuffy prigs – no offense, Stroud."

Stroud nodded graciously.

"But inherently good. Aside from a few templar-turned-Warden wannabes," he finished acidly.

"Good intentions do not always lead to a path of good results," Solas interrupted.

Fenris caught his eye and looked away quickly, feeling slightly relieved when Dorian's hand brushed his own. He'd been avoiding the other elf at mealtimes and deigned not to visit him in his usual haunt in the tower. Fairly sure that Solas understood why, Fenris thought he should say something. But he wasn't ready yet to discuss what they saw. It was one thing if Dorian knew what happened to him, having lived in the Imperium and seen the brutality firsthand. It was another that Solas, a mage and indeed another elf he found himself respecting, saw his vulnerability. Some secrets he wished he could keep buried deep.

"During a Blight," Blackwall chimed in, "Wardens are given sanction to use any means to contend with the darkspawn."

"That doesn't mean using blood magic," Hawke said, glaring.

"Yes," Stroud corrected, "it does. During a true Blight, the Warden treaties can be used to conscript anyone from the lowliest of criminals, to the kingliest of kings. Any methods seen fit by the First Warden are approved without question, which includes blood magic."

"The ends do not always justify the means," Solas pressed.

"So you'd rather have darkspawn running rampant across Thedas?" Blackwall asked, looking back at him.

"That's _not_ what he said," Hawke interrupted. "There are other ways to fight darkspawn without blood magic. I know. I fought them."

"So did I," Blackwall said gruffly. "But if the Wardens can stop the Blights before they start-"

"That's assuming they can even find the Old Gods," Solas pointed out.

"I met a darkspawn with the same intention," Anders said, shutting them all up at once.

Fenris was confused, but intrigued. A darkspawn with intentions other than spreading the taint and corrupting the land? He'd seen darkspawn, fought then, nearly died at their hands. He shuddered to think what they could do if they were actually intelligent.

"He called himself The Architect. He offered my Warden-Commander a deal. To work together to prevent future Blights with a similar plan." He shook his head. "Never trust a darkspawn. You can't control them. You can't reason with them. Even the ones that can speak. Like Corypheus," he added, looking at Blackwall, then to Stroud. "Even if they could find the Old Gods, there's no telling if they'd be able to kill them. Or if they would just lead the darkspawn right to them, preemptively starting another Blight."

"So you'd rather they do nothing?" Blackwall asked.

"No. This was all a manipulation by Corypheus. There's no actual Calling, don't you see?" Anders said. "The song you're hearing, that we're all hearing," he continued, gesturing to the three of them, "it was part of the plan to get the Grey Wardens to do something drastic. Demons and blood magic." He shuddered. "I have seen enough of that to last me three lifetimes. But what's the point? The Venatori don't actually expect them to go to the Deep Roads, do they?"

"And _that_ is the true question," Dorian said, before Blackwall could respond. "If I didn't know better, I would say that the Venatori were offering the Wardens a trade: We help you defeat the Old Gods, you help us take over the world. Quid pro quo."

"The Wardens would never agree to that, don't be daft!" Blackwall scowled.

Dorian held up a hand. "Pardon my theorizing; it seems my vernacular is slightly above the heads of our more simple companions. Let me reiterate with smaller words-"

"Shut up," Hawke snapped.

"Rude."

Fenris sighed and caught Anders' eye, and they exchanged long-suffering looks with one another.

"There's no use in trying to guess," Anders said. "Once we get to Adamant we'll have a talk with Clarel, convince her somehow this is a bad idea, and make the Wardens see that this isn't a true Calling. If I explain what happened the first time we met Corypheus, she'll have to listen."

"Or we'll end up tearing the whole bloody fortress down," Hawke suggested.

Anders took his hand, grinning. "A last resort, love, please."

Hawke huffed.

The conversation shifted to less hostile territory and Fenris glanced at Dorian. His eyes flicked to Hawke and Anders, fingers entwined, and felt Dorian's hand brush his own again. He took it.

"Not to be outdone?" Dorian asked in an undertone.

Fenris scowled. "It's not a competition."

"We could make it one. But you would have to act extremely protective toward me. Perhaps punch people in the face just for looking at me wrong?"

"Hawke doesn't do that."

"Mm," Dorian said, tapping the fingers of his free hand lightly against his mouth. "Not yet, anyway."

"You should stop provoking him."

"But it's such fun!"

Fenris sighed. "If Hawke tries to punch you in the face, I may not stop him."

"You're not grasping the concept of this competition," Dorian said flatly.

Smirking, Fenris squeezed his hand. "Don't worry. I was trained to protect delicate mage flowers after all."

"Well, good, I think that – hey!" Dorian scowled. "I am _not_ a delicate mage flower."

"No, you're definitely not a flower. More a unicorn."

"Hmph. Well. I can hardly argue that."

And they fell into comfortable silence as the group continued their march toward the Western Approach.


	14. Chapter 14

Knight-Captain Rylen was a gruff but resourceful man. He spoke to Anders without the flourish of ceremony, simply shaking his hand and showing him around Griffon Wing Keep. Cassandra was pleased to inspect the troops, and Cullen greeted Rylen as an old comrade-in-arms. Exhausted from the journey through the wasteland that was the Western Approach, the plan was to spend the night in the Keep and journey to Adamant the following morning. Stroud and Blackwall kept to themselves, and Fenris found no reason to interrupt their talks. While grateful to the Wardens for his life and Felix's, he had no desire to debate the morality of using blood magic as a means to an end. It was another thing he and Hawke agreed upon. Too many years with Danarius, too many dark rituals, and too many of his fellow slaves bled nearly to death to fuel the power.

Instead, he walked the keep and found himself on the ramparts, looking out over the sea of sand. It seemed to stretch forever, and with the moonlight glittering off the mottled purple rocks in the distance, it appeared to be an ocean of jewels. In the daylight it proved sad somehow but now, closing on midnight, it was breathtaking.

"You're extremely forlorn tonight," Dorian said, sliding his arms easily around Fenris's waist, chin resting on his shoulder.

Fenris's hands lifted automatically to hold Dorian's, clasped around his middle. The night was chilly, and Dorian was always warm. "Simply tired."

"You should come to bed. I'm told that sleeping relieves fatigue. Fancy that." Dorian chuckled.

Fenris smiled as Dorian pressed kisses to his cheek and neck. "When we left Tevinter, did you think we would find ourselves here?"

"In the middle of a desert bereft of comfortable beds and decent food? No. I can't say that was on my list of probable locations. Antiva, Rivain. Maybe even Orlais, if I were daring enough."

Fenris sighed, the sound turning to a groan when Dorian licked his earlobe, drawing it in between his teeth. "Is there ever a time in which you aren't thinking about sex?" he asked incredulously.

"Hm." Dorian fell silent, nuzzling behind his ear. "I believe there was one time, four years ago when-"

"All right," Fenris scoffed, turning in his arms.

"Perhaps I just like the way you taste," Dorian said, pulling Fenris's hips flush against his own. "Did you really want to spend the rest of your night out here, staring at the moon and stars?"

"They're nice to look at," Fenris said, glancing up. The sky was different here, away from the lights of the city, like a vast inky canvas littered with pinpricks of white.

"Mm. I suppose they are. I, however, prefer more terrestrial beauty."

"Oh?"

Dorian kissed his throat, then licked a stripe up the lyrium line. "Yes," he growled, teeth scraping against skin.

Fenris gasped, body tense, his markings glowing softly, reacting to his arousal. He gripped Dorian's arms, back bent slightly as Dorian continued to kiss, nip, and lick his throat, nuzzling past the neckline of his shirt, finding his collar bone and biting softly. He kept his eyes skyward, concentrating on the stars. Dorian slipped one hand lower, pulling up the hem of his shirt, fingernails dragging across the small of his back, around to his side. Before Fenris could stop him, Dorian was on his knees, nuzzling him through his tunic as he slid down. His hands under his shirt, hiking it up, lips against the flat plane of his stomach, tongue dipping into his navel.

He looked down, hands on Dorian's shoulders, slightly breathless as deft fingers worked his belt, the ties of his trousers. His backside hit the rampart, leaning against it, Dorian pressing him back. Dorian looked up, grinning wickedly, and Fenris licked his lips, anticipating whatever would come next. Dorian leaned up, mouth hot through the fabric of Fenris's trousers at his groin. Fenris felt it over his cock, which hardened rapidly. He groaned, never having felt anything like it before. His own hand was a poor substitute for this. Dorian slowly, teasingly slid his trousers down as Fenris watched, cock free from its cloth confines.

"No smalls," Dorian noted approvingly.

Fenris let out a shaking laugh.

"Beautiful," Dorian said, looking up again.

"I-"

But whatever he planned to say got lost as Dorian licked up the underside of his cock, a strangled noise escaping Fenris's throat. Whatever he'd fantasized, it was nothing to this. He stopped thinking, concentrating only on Dorian's skilled mouth and tongue. His trousers slid further down his thighs, and he moaned the loss of wet heat on his prick, gasping in surprise when it moved lower to his sac. And Dorian – the _bastard_ – began to hum quietly.

Fenris inhaled, reaching up to run his fingers through Dorian's hair, watching him. Dorian's eyes were closed, opening only briefly when he moved back up again to take the head of his cock between his lips. Fenris grunted, jerking when Dorian wrapped a hand around the base, holding him in place. The sensation of his mouth and the feeling of seeing Dorian enjoy himself so thoroughly, performing such a submissive act, confused and delighted him. He'd done this for Danarius and received no such pleasure, but Dorian moaned with each movement of his head, which bobbed slowly back and forth, as if he was getting off on this as much as Fenris was.

"Are…" Fenris swore as Dorian's tongue did something to the head of his cock.

"Mm?" Dorian asked, eyes flicking up, nearly rolling back in his head with obscene pleasure as his cheeks hollowed again, Fenris's cock disappearing down to the hilt.

"Holy sweet Maker, blood of Andraste!" Fenris hissed, not even sure where the blasphemous words came from. His fingers twisted in Dorian's hair, and he whined when Dorian released him.

"Ow," Dorian winced. "Easy there, I quite like my hair. Not too keen to lose it just yet."

Fenris didn't know whether to laugh or complain. "Sorry," he muttered.

Dorian grinned. "I've never done this with an elf before. Not much in the way of hair down here. Convenient."

Fenris looked down incredulously, but Dorian's mouth was back on him and any thoughts of hair and hygiene fled at once. "Does this… do you… get off doing this?"

To answer, Dorian moaned around his cock, taking it further into his mouth. Fenris heard the rustling of cloth and saw Dorian's other hand snake into his own pants. The next few moments passed without talking, the only sounds the wet suckling and quiet movement of Dorian's hand as he stroked himself. Fenris bit his lip, trying not to make too much noise, not wanting to alert the entire keep to what they were doing. His breath hitched and he felt a rush of electricity through his nerves, lyrium lines as bright as the moonlight as he lost control. A pulse of pleasure, a delicious ache as he came, head thrown back in abandon. When he opened his eyes, he saw the stars above. A small pinprick, a streak of light across the sky, and he remembered to breathe.

He looked down in time to watch Dorian finish, face turned away, eyes closed, hand moving quickly on his own cock. He thrust his hips once, then again and came, Fenris avoiding the spurt of semen that hit the stone wall of the rampart. Fenris laughed breathlessly, then harder when Dorian looked up at him, panting.

"And what," Dorian huffed, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, "is so funny?" He wiped off his fingers and softening cock, carefully doing up his pants before standing.

"I… it's nothing. Just…" Fenris looked down at the dark wet stain against the stone, and laughed again before straightening his own clothing.

Dorian hmphed. "At least it's not piss," he remarked callously.

"I suppo-mmph!"

Dorian kissed him hard, one hand at the back of his neck, tongue pushing unceremoniously inside his mouth. Fenris returned it enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around Dorian's waist.

"Mm," Dorian murmured against his lips, pulling back. "Now. Will you come to bed?"

Fenris smiled. "Yes."

He followed Dorian off the ramparts, toward the tents and ducked to enter, stopping when he heard noises from the neighboring one.

"Hawke! Don't do – ah yes, that. Please. Oh fuck!" Anders' words were cut off by a low moan.

Dorian grinned, hand on Fenris's back as he guided him inside their tent. "Looks like we're not the only ones who had the idea."

Fenris shook his head, but crawled inside, settling in Dorian's arms for the night.


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning, Anders and Hawke led a handful of them into the ritual tower Rylen and Scout Harding pointed out the day before. It was on the way to Adamant Fortress, reports of unusual lights and sounds and magical energy, though no one wanted to get too close to investigate fully. It was hardly an hour's trek through the sand to reach the ancient structure, and immediately upon passing under an old broken archway, Fenris knew something was terribly wrong. The stench of blood and the sound of flies buzzing filled his senses.

"Blood magic," Hawke said through gritted teeth.

Anders held up a hand for caution and they approached slowly, walking up crumbling stone steps. A pile of dead bodies in Grey Warden armor rotted in the sun, flies and maggots swarming the festering wounds, blood splatters staining the ground. Half a dozen rage demons hovered calmly next to several Grey Wardens, who stood impassively, heads turning as one as Anders and the others crept closer. Atop another set of stairs stood a mage, arms crossed, looking down at them with a critical eye.

Livius Erimond hadn't changed since Fenris saw him last. And while Alexius's gala was merely a distant memory now, it was hard to forget the flamboyant magister who sent a murderous slave to kill or at least maim members of his family. He supposed that he had Erimond's impulsivity to thank for his freedom though, the events that followed the attack on Felix leading toward Alexius's eventual opportunity to purchase him from Danarius.

"Inquisitor!" he greeted them. "What an unexpected pleasure."

He was just as oily as Fenris remembered, and a part of him wanted to run Erimond through for the pain he caused Alexius.

"Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service," he said with a deep, sweeping bow.

"He's a magister?" Anders asked Dorian, unimpressed.

Dorian shrugged casually, leaning on his staff. "Some are good. Some are bad. And some are simply overdramatic divas."

Erimond scowled. "And Dorian. Of course you would be here. Danarius told us you were traveling with the Inquisition now. How does it feel to be a traitor to your country?"

Fenris straightened at once, a thrill of fear raking his spine, as if he expected Danarius to appear from thin air. If Erimond was telling the truth – and he had no reason to lie, did he? – then Danarius lived, and he was back in contact with the Venatori.

"Hm. Let me think a moment," Dorian said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "How does it feel to finally get the opportunity to see fanatics like you put in their place? Pretty damn good. I only hope I'm the one who gets to deliver the final blow."

Erimond laughed. "Ah, the hotheaded Pavus brat attempts to be intimidating. About as terrifying as a puppy."

"If I were you, magister," Stroud said, pushing forward, "I wouldn't be so cocksure. You are outnumbered!"

A long-suffering sigh escaped Erimond's lips as he leaned against a stone pillar, legs and arms crossed nonchalantly. "The Warden that Clarel let slip. I was wondering when you'd show up. So you found the Inquisitor and gathered a party to try and stop me. Well. Shall we see how that goes?"

Anders looked at the line of Wardens imploringly. "The Calling that you're hearing is fake. It's a mimic. And his master's causing it. Join us so we can put a stop to this!"

The Wardens stared blankly, even as Erimond doubled over with laughter. "Oh, did you come here hoping to garner sympathy? To show the Wardens the error of their ways?"

"Let me punch him in the face," Hawke said flatly, gauntleted fists clenched.

Erimond cleared his throat. "Allow me to demonstrate. Wardens! Hands up!" He raised his arm in the air and surprisingly, so did the Wardens. "Hands down." He dropped his arm and the Wardens mindlessly followed the order.

"Corypheus has taken their minds," Stroud said, looking to Anders.

"No, they did this to themselves," Erimond corrected.

"I'm sure you had absolutely nothing to do with it," Anders bit back.

"The binding ritual I taught the Warden mages has a pleasant side effect. They're now my master's slaves." His eyes slid to Fenris.

Fenris scowled, his grip on his sword redoubling. Dorian touched him lightly on the arm, but it did nothing to calm him. Erimond was not only involved with this heinous plan, but he represented everything that Fenris hated about his life in Tevinter. Serving magisters like him at parties, watching them bleed their slaves for parlor tricks. He would see Erimond dead, and right now it seemed to be the simple matter of who got to him first to take his head.

"This was just a test. A small sampling to make sure it worked. And of course it did, as my ideas always do, brilliant mind that I possess. The Warden Commander right now is awaiting my return so we can bring this underway, and create a demon army that will conquer Thedas."

"Oh," Anders said, suddenly realizing. " _That_ demon army. It makes sense now." He looked to Hawke who nodded in agreement.

"You… knew about it?" Erimond said, faltering slightly. "No matter. The plan moves forward regardless."

"What exactly do you get out of this, Livius?" Dorian asked, interrupting. "Do you think that Corypheus is going to reward you?"

"Ones like Corypheus don't exactly give out gold stars for good behavior," Anders added.

"And what happens once you've killed all the Wardens and bound the others?" Blackwall said, stepping forward. "The world _needs_ Wardens. What is your master going to do when another Blight starts?"

Erimond sneered. "The Elder One commands the Blight. He is not commanded by it. The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable. It is simply a tool."

"No, Livius," Dorian said in an undertone, " _you're_ the tool."

Fenris would have laughed, but he was too unnerved, too sickened by the idea of the power that Corypheus seemed to be reaching for. They needed to stop the Warden-Commander before all the Wardens fell to possession.

"So you think you can take us all on?" Anders asked, gesturing at the group gathered. "With a couple of demons, Warden mages, and yourself? Didn't your master tell you what I did to the Breach? What I did to his dragon?"

Fenris looked at Anders, then to Dorian, who raised an eyebrow; clearly he hadn't been told the full story either. It did lend itself to the mysterious air that Anders really had returned from the dead. He knew the tale must've been more mundane that that, and promised himself he'd ask Anders if they got out of this.

"He did. He also told me how to handle you, should you come round interfering in his plans again." Erimond's hand crackled with scarlet energy.

Anders dropped to the ground at once, clutching his left hand which split open with the green light of the Anchor. The two forces of magic - one red, one green - joined in the center with a brilliant white spark. Hawke withdrew his sword, stepping forward.

"Ah ah," Erimond said. "You don't want your precious Inquisitor to die, do you? You let me go with my Wardens and their demons, and I let your little leader live. Though, I can only imagine the praise I'll receive from my master when I bring him your head. His gratitude-"

Anders rose to his feet suddenly, skin crackling blue, eyes pupil-less and bright. The Anchor erupted in a blast of magical energy and Anders pulled on the connection between him and Erimond, throwing Erimond off his feet, sending him crashing down the steps.

"Glowing again," Fenris said without thinking, moving with the others away from Anders as Hawke stepped closer to calm him.

"Don't be jealous," Dorian said, casting a protective barrier over them, "he's not as pretty as you are when you do it."

Fenris barely had time to acknowledge the compliment before leaping forward to engage the demons.


	16. Chapter 16

Fenris lost track of Erimond in the ensuing chaos during the battle, and the next several hours were a rush to gather their forces. Adamant had been built long before the invention of modern siege weapons, and Cullen led the march across the Western Approach toward it. They hadn't stopped the entire day, night falling quickly in the desert, and now they stood in front of it, a seemingly impenetrable fortress. Its tall gates were shut, dots of torchlight on the ramparts above, shouts from the Grey Wardens echoing in the darkness.

"We'll get the doors open, Inquisitor," Cullen said, drawing his sword. "Once you're inside-"

"We'll find Clarel and put a stop to this," Anders said. "Subdue, Cullen, not attack. We don't need more deaths than we've already seen, do you understand me?"

Cullen nodded. "I understand "

Anders returned a tight-lipped smile before turning toward the group that gathered around him. "We're going to face heavy opposition in there. The Inquisition's forces are going to what they can to get us a clear path to Clarel. Once we're there, Stroud," he looked at him, "I want you to talk to her. Try to make her see reason. I don't want… I don't want to have to kill any of the Wardens we don't have to."

"Once they realize what Corypheus has done, they'll stand down," Blackwall said, though Fenris wasn't sure.

"That's what I hope," Anders agreed.

"If the chance to kill Erimond presents itself," Dorian started.

"I'd rather him taken alive, but I'm not going to be choosy. He's hurt too many people already."

"Fair enough," Dorian said, then he looked at Fenris. "Something to write to Felix when this is all over?"

Fenris snorted. "Maybe. But revenge isn't exactly noble."

"Well-"

"I didn't say I was a noble person."

Dorian laughed, though it lacked any mirth. "I hope you don't blame me when I get to him first."

"If you get to him to first, you owe me," Fenris said, watching Cullen's troops pull the battering ram forward. Their own small group was far enough away that they weren't in danger of being hit by the arrows the Grey Wardens rained down on the Inquisition's soldiers. Anders looked as if he wanted to run into the fray, to shield and protect and heal the wounded.

"Oh?" Dorian asked, over the sudden rising cacophony of battle. "And what would I owe you?"

"The opportunity to rip out Danarius's heart. For real," Fenris said seriously. He looked at him, eyes narrowed.

Dorian swallowed. Nodded. "Love, I would give you that opportunity even if you took Erimond's head yourself."

Fenris leaned up to kiss him, just a swift, chaste brush of lips against lips, but it was all he needed. The promise of killing not one, but two Venatori magisters emboldened him, and he waited anxiously as the battering ram crashed through the doors, ages old wood cracking and splintering. Ladders were thrown up against the battlements and Inquisition soldiers swarmed the ramparts.

"That's our cue," Anders said.

Hawke drew his sword. "Stick close," he told them.

Dorian and Solas provided careful barriers around them, Blackwall and Stroud with their shields ready. Cullen met them at the entrance, which was covered in rubble. Inside, the courtyard was piled high with sand, soaked with blood. Fenris noticed most of the fallen wore the silver and grey of the Wardens, and found himself without remorse for them. Perhaps he should have tried to dredge up sympathy, but his job now was that of an Inquisition soldier, to get to the Warden-Commander and stop this madness.

"All right, you have your way in," Cullen said. "The Wardens are withdrawing further into the keep, so watch your backs. We'll keep the demons occupied for as long as we can."

"Remember what I said, Commander," Anders said, using Cullen's official title. "No unnecessary risks. Our soldiers' lives are not commodities. Stay safe."

"And you, Inquisitor. Maker go with you all."

The fortress was dark and vast, the halls empty but stained with blood. Anders lit his staff and led the way, Hawke walking even with him. Fenris felt an evil aura, something terrible, an almost tangible pain, the echoes of something foul that happened in this place.

"Voices from the Fade," Solas said quietly, walking next to him. His staff tip glowed softly.

Dorian glanced past Fenris, eyes narrowed as he focused on Solas. Fenris knew he was likely still upset with Solas for their trip into the Fade through his memories, and the anguish it caused him. But he'd agreed to it, and Solas was not to blame for the atrocities in his past.

"What happened here?"

"The research of a Tranquil elf named Pharamond. He allowed a demon to possess him and through him, many more spirits flooded the keep. The Veil is so thin here," Solas said, sounding pained. "Cole did not want to tell the tale at first, but it was like drawing poison from a wound. He told a story of how so many died for the knowledge that Lord Seeker Lambert wanted kept secret. It was the start of the true rebellion, though our Inquisitor played no small part."

Cassandra, walking behind them, made a quiet, sympathetic noise. Or was it disbelief? Fenris wasn't sure. He hadn't spoken much to the Seeker especially of late, and wondered if she'd heard of this Lord Seeker and what he'd done. He assumed Solas spoke not of the one they had the displeasure of meeting at Val Royeaux so long ago.

"How can a Tranquil become possessed?" Dorian asked, his incredulous tone indicating exactly what he thought of such a thing.

"Pharamond achieved it. Normally Tranquil don't interest spirits or demons," Solas explained. "But that does not mean that it cannot happen."

"Shh!" Hawke hissed, holding up a hand.

Fenris slowed with the rest of them as they approached a set of double doors. The sound of the fighting was distant and behind them, but there was no telling if they would also find possessed Wardens and a horde of demons ahead. Carefully they pushed forward into what appeared to be the bailey of the keep, black iron fencing surrounding the upper walkway. Beyond the reach of the keep walls, they could see the night sky, and the deep, dark canyon - the Abyssal Rift.

"The Inquisition!"

Below them, Wardens moved quickly into position and Fenris felt the familiar pull of a magical barrier around him. Anders raced down the steps, arms up.

"Wait! Stop!"

An arrow loosed, but Dorian was quicker, a flurry of flame from his palm incinerating it before it could strike Anders.

"Brothers, you must stop this!" Stroud shouted, following Anders, leaping the last five steps. "This is madness!"

"They're being controlled!" Solas warned.

But it wasn't true, there were only three mages amidst the dozen Wardens, two rage demons and a desire demon emerging from the ground. Stroud continued to shout, to try to get them to listen to reason. Fenris saw through the fray as he stepped into the fight. Tearing down demons was something he was used to, made easier by the support he had, a barrier from either Dorian or Solas, a spell from Anders to rejuvenate him, and he'd barely broken a sweat as he and Cassandra flanked a rage demon, hacking it to pieces while Hawke and Blackwall took on the other. Dorian locked the desire demon in a static prison, and a blast of ice from Anders' staff froze it still as a statue. With a warrior's cry, Hawke raced forward and swung his sword, shattering it into pieces.

"STOP!" Anders bellowed to the remaining Wardens. "We don't want to hurt you! We don't want any more bloodshed, just stand down and fall back to safety!"

The Wardens hesitated, looking at each other, to their three fallen comrades on the ground, and the remains of the demons left behind.

"My soldiers have been given orders not to attack unless you do first," Anders said, holding his staff out, parallel to the ground, his other hand raised in almost a gesture of surrender. "Please!"

"We'll fall back," one of the Wardens said. "We never wanted this. Our brothers, they went mad. They wouldn't listen."

"It's a fake Calling," Anders said. "It's not real, what you're hearing. It's the Elder One – Corypheus. We'll stop it, I promise."

"We need to move," Stroud urged him. "Quickly before we lose more mage Wardens to this ritual."

Anders nodded, the pain he felt at having to kill his fellow Wardens showing clear on his face. Leaving the Warden warriors behind, they pressed on through the fortress.


	17. Chapter 17

"This place is enormous," Dorian said. "How big is it exactly?"

"It was meant to house thousands of Grey Wardens and their griffons," Stroud said. "It has stood since before the Second Blight and no doubt has been built up over time."

They climbed another set of stairs and trudged through what looked like a storage room or perhaps a pantry, judging from the scent of rotting food. The sounds of fighting grew louder now as they approached a door. Hawke kicked it open easily and Fenris saw more ramparts beyond. There was no time anymore for talking as they filed through, spreading out at once to aid their soldiers. Fenris saw the Inquisition's banner flying high and it filled him with a sense of belonging, the way wearing Alexius's house colors had at one time.

The scent of sulfur, the heat in the night air, the pull of magic at his markings, and he phased easily into his spirit form, moving fast, empowered by a haste spell cast by one of the mages. He cut through two shades easily, the lesser demons not standing a chance against his blade, his talent. Fighting for a cause he believed in, there was no room for doubt or fear. His sword caught another, a Warden who refused to stand down, his eyes wide with surprise as Fenris gave him a clean death, a blade through the heart. He pulled it free, the world coming back to sharp relief as the lyrium in his skin dimmed, and he glanced around for the others.

"A little help for the mage, please!"

Fenris was at Dorian's side the second he realized what happened. Dorian was lying on the ground, propped on an elbow, clutching his side where blood pooled and seeped through his silken robe. He lay back, panting for breath, fighting to stay conscious despite the pain.

"Anders!" Fenris shouted, looking around wildly, the earlier exhilaration of battle gone now, replaced with icy cold dread.

And as if his desperation pulled the man through the Veil itself, Anders appeared immediately, dropping to his knees next to Dorian.

"Ah good," Dorian breathed, then writhed as a jolt of pain wracked his body. "Looks like… I'm not dying today… after all."

Fenris watched Anders pull Dorian's hands away and tore the fabric from the wound. Warm, blue light emitted from his palms and he pressed his hand directly against the damaged skin. Dorian closed his eyes and Fenris gripped his hand, which was sticky with blood.

"It's all right," Anders assured them both. "Missed all the important bits. Just muscle. Easy to fix."

"Says the extremely talented and wonderfully handsome healer," Dorian managed, and gritted his teeth. "If I had any knack for it-"

"I'd be out of a job," Anders finished.

"Nonsense," Dorian said, letting out a breath as his skin started to close. "I haven't the faintest idea how to close rifts. And Hawke frankly hates me so I think that he'd be sorely disappointed if – ow. Ow. OW! Burns! Ow!"

"Baby," Anders admonished.

"Have some sympathy for the man whose innards were almost his out-ards," Dorian protested.

"Do you need a potion for the pain?" Fenris asked, and reached into his pouch without waiting for an answer. He'd stocked up in Griffon Wing Keep, knowing they would need to be ready for anything.

"No, no, I'm fine. Save them," Dorian insisted, pushing the vial of red liquid back at him. "Help me up. Did we win?"

"For the most part," Anders confirmed, helping Fenris pull Dorian to his feet. "I've sent Cassandra, Blackwall, and Solas to see if our soldiers needed more help getting into the keep. We're seeing less resistance than I thought, but we're likely running out of time. Cullen's forces can only hold so long."

"It's this way," Stroud said, approaching. "Is he all right?"

" _He_ will live," Dorian snapped. "Thanks for the concern."

"Hawke found steps leading to a lower bailey. That must be where Clarel is," Stroud continued, ignoring Dorian. "A lot of the Wardens running in that direction, those that didn't stand to fight. Only a few surrendered."

Anders accepted this report with a nod. "Even if we can save only a few, it doesn't matter. We're not mindless beasts. I refuse to slaughter those who turn from this. We're better than that."

"Your eyes," Fenris warned.

Anders blinked away the blue, taking deep, steadying breaths. "Let's move."

He turned with Stroud and they jogged away. Fenris looked at the gaping hole in Dorian's robes. The concern must've shone on his face, because Dorian made a noise of disgust, bending down to take up his staff.

"They were expensive, too," he said, following Anders and Stroud.

Fenris kept pace. "Hardly what I'm worried about."

"You think a sword through the belly is enough to stop me? Well, all right, it nearly was. My barrier fell and it felt like I lost my mana. One of the Wardens must have had some type of templar training. Aren't they taught how to cancel spells or some rubbish?"

Fenris grunted. He wasn't sure. He knew Cullen had been trained as a templar though, and wondered if he would train with Dorian. If it was a technique to subdue mages, then the Inquisition's mages should be prepared for that, including Dorian. Then again, if Dorian had trained with him when he was teaching Felix how to swing a sword instead of lying about in the sun eating grapes, he might have been able to block better.

"When we return to Skyhold, I'm teaching you how to fight."

Dorian's laugh was full of disbelief. "You must be joking. I know how to _fight_."

"Not without your magic," Fenris snapped back. "You leave yourself open for attacks. I can't always be there. What if-"

Dorian grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and turned him to face him. "Fenris-"

"No!" Fenris said, shoving his hand away. "No." He looked up at him, seeing the startled look, and knew he must have appeared wild. "I cannot lose you. I _will not_ lose you."

Dorian's mouth hung slightly open, lips parted in shock at Fenris's vehemence. "If it makes you feel better, Fenris, yes. I agree. But I won't die."

"You can't promise that," Fenris said. "You can't, so don't. I can't protect… Just… don't. Come on. We need to catch up."

He quickened his pace, glad when Dorian said nothing else about it, and hoped he had the chance to ensure Dorian would follow through and allow the training. Perhaps he would ask Hawke as well, knowing how it would please him to take a swing or two at Dorian. Maybe then Dorian would understand why he worried, why he wanted him to do everything in his power to keep himself safe. 

After all, Dorian owed it to him to stay alive, just as Fenris owed the same to Dorian.


	18. Chapter 18

The lower bailey was four times as large as the upper, the architecture similar but it was clear it was much, much older than the rest of the parts of the fortress they'd seen. Built by dwarves, it was made to last thousands of years, but as a castle it had seen many battles and was showing its age. Stone worn from centuries of boots thundering over it, railing that was broken or outright missing in parts, and towers that crumbled, leaving them open to the elements. They approached, the five of them, moving cautiously through the doors leading into the yard.

"That is the Warden-Commander," Stroud whispered. They hadn't been seen yet, staying in the shadows to survey the scene.

A woman paced the balcony above the yard, Erimond standing behind her. Fenris gripped his sword, eager to see the magister's head removed from his body. Wardens stood facing their commander, all looking up as she addressed them.

"Wardens! We are betrayed by the very world we have sworn to protect!"

Dorian gripped Anders by the arm, leaning forward to whisper something in his ear. He nodded toward the center of the yard, a raised stone platform. Six Warden mages stood in a circle, their palms full of a dark, black magic. Fenris watched as the shadow-like energy pulsed and twisted, tangling together to fill the area above the platform, fading from black to green. The mages moved in tandem, casting a spell that appeared to be the beginnings of a Fade rift.

Erimond stepped forward, grabbing Clarel's arm. He said something inaudible. Clarel scowled and responded in kind, gesturing out toward the Wardens. She looked back, waving someone close. An elven girl stepped forward, looking apprehensive.

"The Wardens appreciate your sacrifice, Jana," Clarel addressed her, voice ringing over the courtyard.

"Jana?" Anders said. "That girl we met in Crestwood? But I told her shouldn't join the War – NO!"

Clarel drew a knife, guiding Jana to an altar, but Anders broke from the shadows, Wardens turning in surprise as he raced toward the stairs.

"Anders!" Hawke called, running after.

"Don't!" Anders shouted.

But Clarel brought the knife swiftly across her throat. Jana's eyes widened in fear, and then she was dead, slumping to the ground.

"Stop them!" Erimond ordered, drawing his staff, backing away from Anders, who'd gained the balcony. "The ritual must not be interrupted!"

The Rift above the platform grew, pulsing brightly, shimmering like an emerald wind.

"No more Wardens need to lose their lives!" Anders pleaded, looking at Clarel.

Hawke and Stroud ascended the steps, the other Wardens glancing up to their Commander for instructions. Clarel's eyes narrowed as they fell on Stroud, but she said nothing, still holding the dagger that took the elf girl's life.

Erimond sneered. "This is not your affair, Inquisitor. What the Wardens do is no business of the Inquisition's."

"Do not interfere," Clarel said. "We must complete this ritual."

" _I_ am a Warden!" Anders insisted.

Fenris kept his sword drawn but pointed downward and started toward the stairs, keeping his eyes on the amassed Grey Wardens, who all seemed to be watching the confrontation. Dorian followed him carefully, their backs to the wall in case someone decided to attack preemptively.

"He's doing this because he wants to bind you," Anders explained.

"Yes, Inquisitor," Erimond said with a laugh. "I want to bind the Warden-Commander to a demon. You see, unfortunately, everyone here already knows that, so I'm not exactly sure what you're hoping to accomplish."

"Do not pretend to be stupid!" Stroud spat.

"He's not pretending," Dorian quipped, "he really is quite remarkably unintelligent."

Erimond scowled. "The ritual requires a blood sacrifice. The Wardens were willing to give their lives. That is _also_ no business of the Inquisition's!"

Clarel stepped forward, finally sheathing her knife. "We make sacrifices no one else will. Surely you know that, being a Warden."

"I do," Anders implored. "I've fought darkspawn and broodmothers. I've been to the Deep Roads more than I care to ever remember. I know what it means to sacrifice, to give up so much to help. But this isn't the way."

"He's going to bind all the mages to Corypheus," Hawke cut in. "Perhaps you should've asked about the details before you condemned an innocent girl to death!"

"Jana was a Warden-" Erimond started.

But Clarel's surprised, "What are you talking about?" cut him off.

"It's true," Anders pressed.

"We have seen it," Stroud added.

Dorian leaned up to whisper in Fenris's ear, "If Erimond runs, stop him. If this turns into a brawl…"

Fenris didn't want to leave Dorian, but the idea of letting Erimond slip from their grasp again, he couldn't bear it. He nodded.

"But Corypheus is dead," Clarel insisted.

"You're telling me," Hawke huffed.

"He was. He lived somehow," Anders said. "I faced him at Haven."

Erimond stepped up to Clarel, grabbing her roughly by the arm, dragging her to look at him. "They will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarel. This is the only way to stop the Blight. To stop the Calling. Wouldn't you sacrifice _anything_ for that?"

Clarel closed her eyes, exhaling forcefully. She nodded, then looked out over the yard, addressing the mages. "Bring it through."

The Fade rift crackled, glowing brighter, opening wider. Fenris's lyrium lines lit up, reacting to the surge of pure magic from the tear in the Veil. The mark on Anders' hand pulsed in tandem with it. Erimond laughed, almost giddy now. He clacked his staff against the stone three times in succession in apparent glee.

"NO!" Anders shouted, but before he could raise his staff to cast or his palm to try to close the rift, a shadow fell over them.

"WATCH OUT!" someone yelled, as a jet of red electricity flew straight for Anders, followed by the scream of Corypheus's dragon overhead.

The bolt missed its mark and hit a stone wall, throwing rock and dust everywhere. Fenris turned quickly, pulling Dorian close, shielding him instinctively from the resultant debris.

"My master thought you would continue to interfere," Erimond laughed. "So he sent you a little going away present."

Fenris coughed through the dust and took the stairs two at a time, eager to get to Erimond. Anders, Hawke, and Stroud were thrown off their feet, but looked unharmed. The dragon screamed again, an unearthly sound like rusty nails against a slate. It circled the fortress until it landed high above them on a crumbling tower. Fenris was almost there, he would reach Erimond in seconds. He would take his head, maybe even send it to Alexius as a gift.

Clarel, who Fenris hadn't been watching, hadn't even cared about, let loose with a burst of magic. A ball of electricity caught Erimond unawares, sending him head over heels over the balcony. He landed on his back with a thud and a pained cry, and Fenris raced to the railing. Clarel got there first, leaping over it and dropped into a crouch next to Erimond.

"Clarel, wait! You don't-"

The dragon roared, drawing everyone's eye, but Fenris kept his on Erimond, who was on his feet again and running, racing toward another set of stairs. Clarel followed, and Fenris was about to jump down to follow when the doors of the courtyard burst open, a flurry of Inquisition soldiers flooding in. He quickly lost sight of Erimond, but caught a flash of silver chainmail around a corner. With a grunt of frustration, he returned to Anders, hauling him to his feet.

"We have to get to Erimond!"

Anders, coughing, nodded. "Go! Go, we'll follow once we deal with the dragon."

Fenris saw Dorian who was fighting now on the stairs with Stroud, battling the Wardens who refused to give up, who refused to see what was in front of their faces. Hesitant to leave them, but knowing he couldn't give up the opportunity to stop Erimond, Fenris easily hopped over the railing, phasing into his spirit form. He crossed swords with one Warden, shoving him back before tearing up the second set of stairs, and followed the path after Erimond and Clarel.

He hoped Anders and the others wouldn't be far behind.


	19. Chapter 19

Navigating Adamant Fortress wouldn't have been easy otherwise, but Fenris caught up quickly with Clarel and Erimond. The arch he passed under led to a long, wide rampart that jutted out into the night sky and abruptly dropped off. Beyond that, the other half of the battlement led to yet another part of the fortress. And between them, a yawning gap that made passage impossible. Erimond backed away slowly from Clarel who stalked forward, shoulders set, staff out. Erimond hurled a handful of fire at her, but it glanced ineffectively off a shimmering, near-transparent shield.

"You!" Clarel screamed. "You destroyed the Grey Wardens!"

Fenris thought this was rich, all things considered. Clarel threw out her palm, a burst of green energy catching Erimond on the shoulder. He cried out and fell back, his staff clattering to the stone. Clarel raced forward, Fenris taking a few tentative steps, sword out and at the ready. Clarel could bat him around the way a cat would a mouse, but he would have the final blow. The only one else to whom he would yield that honor was Dorian.

Erimond was laughing, slowly sitting up. "You did that to yourself, you stupid bitch." He looked up, clutching his shoulder which was bleeding. "All I did was dangle a little power before your eyes and you couldn't _wait_ to get your hands bloody."

Anger twisting her features, Clarel gripped her staff in both hands and swung hard, the force wave tossing Erimond back toward Fenris. Footfalls sounded behind him and he turned, exhaling in relief as he saw Dorian, Anders, Hawke and Stroud.

"He's here," Fenris said, turning back to watch the confrontation.

Clarel's staff lit again and she let loose with another blast. Erimond, already wounded, could barely defend himself. He skittered another several feet toward them, none of their group inclined to stop Clarel from enacting her rage on him.

"You… could have served a new god," Erimond coughed, curled in a fetal position, blood staining the corners of his mouth.

Clarel glared down at him, palm full of whitish-green magic, ready to unleash another spell. Suddenly a gust of wind. It happened so fast, Fenris barely registered as the dragon swooped down, landed, and snatched Clarel up in its jaws before flying away. Erimond's laugher was broken by his coughs.

"I wouldn't be so amused," Dorian said, livid. He pushed past Anders, flexing his fingers. Fenris winced as a purple light erupted from his hand. "You're not surviving this, Livius."

Erimond got to his feet slowly, staggering, backing away from them as quickly as his battered body would allow. But there was nowhere for him to go. A scream behind them from the dragon, and Fenris turned to see Clarel's body thrown twenty feet in the air, landing with a dull thud against the stone. Then amazingly she started to move, limbs weak, her left arm mangled. The dragon turned its black eyes toward them, hopping down from a tower, ignoring the dying Clarel. Fenris felt the barrier around them all, a quick spell from Anders, and just in time as the dragon let loose a volley of flame. It washed over them, leaving them unharmed.

"The throat," Hawke said, gesturing at Fenris.

Fenris nodded. Their combined blades would hopefully be enough to pierce the dragon's thick hide, and with luck they would be quick enough to kill it before it could harm any of them.

"If we both thrust at the same time, we can stop it. Anders, get ready with a-"

A blast of magic from Clarel's staff launched the dragon into the air. It flailed, trying to get its bearings, scorch marks on its chest. The wound did not seem fatal, if Fenris had to guess, and the dragon was still moving, twisting and writhing.

"Back up! Back up, back up!" Anders shouted, shoving at them.

They raced the battlement, the dragon screeching loudly. Another jolt of magic from Clarel and the dragon lost what little flight it had, slamming down on the stone behind them before rolling, tumbling over the edge. The ground started to shake, the aging rampart not able to withstand against the dragon's thrashing, and began to crumble. They ran, the stone dropping out from beneath their feet.

"Stroud!" 

Fenris heard Anders' cry, but didn't look back. But it didn't matter, he started to fall. He reached out for Dorian, fingers slipping over the silken robes and he briefly saw his lover's face as they plummeted to the ground below. A dazzling green light filled his vision and he raised his arms, waiting for the pain or for death.

Neither came.

He opened his eyes and hit the ground, dropping a mere three inches. The stone was gone, dirt beneath him, and he quickly rolled to his back, expecting to see the rest of the battlement falling, ready to crush them. But above was nothing but a dark, cloudy, putrid sky that looked wrong, so very wrong. He felt the residual aches and soreness in his muscles from a fight, but nowhere near the pain he should have been in, considering the fall he took.

"Dorian!" He sat up quickly, regretting it, head swimming, stomach lurching.

"Here," came a muffled voice.

Fenris looked around, taking in his companions. Dorian lay close, a few feet away on his stomach. He got slowly to his hands and knees, looking pale and shaken. Anders stood not too far beyond him, a wide-eyed look of confusion on his face.

"Are we dead?" Dorian groaned. "Because if we are, I wasn't aware it would hurt so much."

"Not dead," Hawke said.

It was then that Fenris realized Hawke was upside down. A rock jutted out from the ground, and Hawke stood on the overhang. He leapt down carefully, a frown behind his black beard. He checked his sword, and Fenris realized he hadn't seen his. The blade appeared instantly in his hand and he was confused. It wasn't there a second ago. Had it come from thin air? How?

Dorian's hand came under his arm, pulling him carefully to his feet. He stretched, taking another look around. A rolling mist filled the cavern they were standing in. But not a cavern, because he could see the sky. But it wasn't the sky he knew that overlooked the Western Approach. In the distance, more rocks, craggy and reminiscent of those he saw in the Anderfels, though he'd been there only once and briefly, with no good memories to claim.

Stroud jogged up, frowning. "What happened?"

"Anders?" Fenris asked, concerned.

Anders ambled to their side, hand pressed against his head. "I'm fine. I think I…" He held open his palm, the Anchor glowing dully.

"You opened a rift," Dorian said. "This is the Fade. We're _inside_ the Fade. The actual Fade. We're here physically!" He was breathless with excitement.

Fenris felt ill and dizzy. The whole thing felt wrong.

"No one else has been able to do this in a thousand years. Except you," Dorian said looking at Anders. "When you fell out of the rift at Haven. The mark on your hand is-"

"Dangerous," Hawke growled. "Where's Justice?" he asked, looking at Anders.

"I'm not saying I'm getting any ideas-" Dorian started.

"Good," Hawke snapped, then looked back to Anders. "Last time we were in the Fade-"

Anders sighed. "Please stop. Both of you. We… we need to find a way out. Justice is… he's loud, but I can't make it out. Not really. He knows we shouldn't be here. But it's not like that last time in Kirkwall. I didn't have a choice. But here, I do. I think." 

Fenris thought he sounded almost a little wistful. _The Tale of the Champion _mentioned a brief visit to the Fade, but it was done through a ritual with lyrium, as the magisters did sometimes, and sometimes with blood. He'd asked Dorian to skim that chapter, not liking the memories it evoked.__

__Anders rubbed his forehead again and then held up his hand, palm out, as if he could recreate opening a rift, tear through the Veil and step through. "…Maybe it only works from the other side, then."_ _

__"We must be close to the rift the Wardens were opening," Stroud started carefully. "Perhaps we could find it and get back through there."_ _

__"Well it's the best plan that we've got for now, I say yes," Dorian agreed._ _

__Someone groaned loudly. Exchanging confused looks, weapons at the ready, they turned around, ready for a fight._ _

__"Who brought the bloody fortress down on my head?"_ _

__Erimond, it seemed, had fallen through the rift with them._ _


	20. Chapter 20

"Looks like it's my lucky day," Dorian said lightly, as they approached Erimond, who was picking himself up off the ground.

"Or mine," Hawke growled. He hauled Erimond to his feet.

"Hawke, wait-" Anders started.

Fenris winced as Hawke's gauntlet slammed into Erimond's cheek. Erimond cried out in pain and would have fallen had Hawke not continued to hold him upright.

Anders grabbed his arm. "Hawke!"

Hawke looked back at him. "Give me a reason."

"Yes," Fenris snarled. "Give him a reason as to why the magister should live." His only regret was that he didn't get to punch Erimond first. Only his fist would have gone through the man's chest cavity, crushing his heart.

"And quickly," Dorian added.

"Yes," Erimond piped up. "Any reason, please. If you could. Thanks." He held a hand to his face, his cheek split open and bleeding, lip already swollen, and his eye would likely be black and blue soon.

"He'll face judgment back at Skyhold. No one else needs to die," Anders said quietly.

Fenris thought it was a poor argument and was about to say so, but Hawke lowered his arm.

"Ah yes. Judgment. Sounds fantastic. Where are we?" Erimond asked.

"The Fade," Anders answered. "And you'd do well to shut up, or I might change my mind."

"Wait a minute," Dorian said, a note of incredulity in his voice. "You're not the only one who's suffered because of him. Why do you get the final say in what happens?"

"Because we need to get out of here in one piece and we may need him."

"Or he might just stab us in the back," Dorian returned.

"This is why he's going first," Anders said. "And if any Fade monsters decide they like the taste of human flesh, he can be the bait while we run for cover."

Erimond's eyes widened at the statement, but Fenris thought it was fair. Between the five of them, they could control what Erimond might do. And if they got out of here alive, he would take Erimond's heart then, no matter what Anders said. One way or another, Erimond would die. Anders lifted his hand, palm full of warm blue light. Erimond flinched, backing away.

"It's a healing spell," Anders said, annoyed. "Unless you want to lose sight in that eye for a week, or worse. Trust me, I've seen Hawke kill a man with less force."

"Oh. Well. All right then," Erimond said, eyes flicking to Hawke then back to Anders.

"You didn't have to heal him," Dorian said bitterly, as the cuts and bruises faded.

Anders sighed. "Does anyone else need healing?"

Fenris sheathed his sword for now. He was sore but unhurt, and checked on Dorian, touching his hand lightly. Dorian smiled and shook his head, reaching up briefly run his fingers through Fenris's hair, reassuring him. Neither Stroud nor Hawke appeared to be harmed either, and with that settled, Anders shoved Erimond forward.

"Easy! This is my first time traipsing through the Fade like this. You know, if you used that mark-"

"Shut up," Hawke snapped.

"Right, right," Erimond said airily, as if he wasn't being marched forward by five people, four of whom wished for his death. "It's no wonder the Elder One wanted you dead. Your power does rival his."

"Are you trying to butter him up, Livius?" Dorian asked. "Do you think his ego works the same as yours? If you stroke it the right way he'll be putty in your hands?"

"While we're on the subject of stroking, though," Erimond said crudely, looking back at Dorian with a smirk. "How would dear daddy like to hear that his only son is bedding an _elf_? Danarius mentioned it in passing, and I thought he was just going senile. But to see how you two paw all over one another-"

Fenris didn't hesitate. He took two long strides forward, fist phasing through Erimond's chest. He felt the man's heart as he closed his fingers around it, but did not phase back. "If you speak one more word, magister," he snarled, "I will rip your heart from your chest and leave it here to rot in the Fade."

"Maker's breath," Stroud muttered, hand on his sword.

"Fenris," Anders said. "Let him go."

Fenris turned his glare on Anders. "If he speaks again-"

"They're just words."

Dorian put a hand on his shoulder. "Fenris."

Fenris looked at Dorian, feeling the anger ebb with the gentle expression on his lover's face. Dorian cupped his cheek.

"He can't hurt me," Dorian said. "And even if he could send word to my father, it doesn't matter."

Fenris slowly removed his fist from Erimond's chest, Erimond letting out a relieved breath. "Very well," Fenris said quietly, and managed a small smile when Dorian kissed his forehead.

"But you should shut up, Livius," Dorian said, looking at him. "Any one of us could kill you in a multitude of ways, some more slowly and brutally than others."

Erimond frowned, and Anders turned him around, pushing him forward again. Dorian and Fenris fell back, Stroud pulling even with Hawke to talk quietly as they walked.

"You don't need to defend my honor from the likes of him," Dorian said lightly.

Fenris grunted. "He hurt Alexius. He… is everything that's wrong with the Imperium."

"Well. Not everything," Dorian said. "But yes I understand your point."

"…What if your father does say something?"

Dorian looked at him, eyebrow raised. "Fenris. We're lost in the Fade. Stuck here until we find a way out. On the other side of the Veil, Grey Wardens and Inquisition soldiers are battling demons and probably each other. And you're concerned about what my father thinks about my choice in bed partner?"

Fenris shrugged. It sounded absurd when put like that. But there was always a niggling at the back of his mind. While part of him wanted Dorian to be able to reconcile with his father, that almost definitely meant the end of their relationship.

"Stop thinking."

"Hn?"

"You're thinking about it," Dorian said quietly. "When you should be concentrating on what's coming ahead. Fade. Demons. Likely large ones with every intention of killing us. My father isn't going to very well appear to slap my wrist and drag me home."

The idea was amusing and terrifying all at once. "And if he did?"

" _Fasta Vass_ , Fenris! Stop," Dorian sighed. "Maker, I thought I was the ridiculous one between the two of us. You have proven me wrong."

Fenris scowled. Perhaps he was being ridiculous. But was it so difficult for Dorian to assuage his fear? One statement, one bit of reassurance. He pulled away when Dorian reached up to touch his arm. "You're right. We should concentrate on what's to come."

Fenris heard the sigh when hurried his pace, but ignored it. Perhaps it was due to the Fade, the unnerving sky, the odd way everything shifted and the crawling of his skin that had nothing to do with his lyrium lines, though they seemed to itch. No one seemed to notice, or perhaps they chose not to mention it, considering where they were. Erimond, at least, had neither seen nor heard their quick, terse argument.

"This way," Anders said, pushing Erimond up a set of stairs.

"I could do without the shoving, you know. I _am_ walking. You didn't even let me see if I could find my staff, and you all have your weapons. How am I supposed to properly defend-"

"By the Maker," Stroud said suddenly, "could that be…?"

Fenris saw her, and immediately his instincts told him this wasn't right. Standing in the middle of the Fade, an old woman wearing southern Chantry robes like the ones Mother Giselle had? He pushed forward past the others, who appeared dumbstruck.

"Stand aside, demon," he said, sword raised.

"I greet you," the thing wearing the Divine's face said, perfectly pleasantly as if they were simply crossing paths in a park on a sunny afternoon and not in this hellish nightmare.

Anders touched Fenris's wrist, pushing to lower his sword. "Are you really her? The Divine?"

"Your Divine is dead," Erimond spat. "And good riddance."

"It could be a demon," Hawke warned. "Anders."

"Justice doesn't think it is," Anders said. "He… I could try to maybe… let him out? He's so loud."

"No," Hawke said, stepping up, between Anders and Fenris. "No. We don't need his help. I need you to stay in control. Understand?"

Anders nodded. "If he becomes too strong…"

"If we need him. Not before."

"Justice?" Erimond said, intrigued. "The Elder One mentioned a spirit inside you. That you were an abomination. Is it-" Hawke whirled and Erimond immediately raised his hands. "Ah! Not the face!"

Fenris shoved Erimond back, markings flaring vividly in tandem with his anger. Erimond went, stopping next to Dorian. He looked at him, perhaps searching for vindication, but Dorian didn't even glance his way.

"Are you truly the Divine?" Anders tried again.

"Is it hard to believe?" she asked with a benign smile. "When you stand here in the Fade yourself."

"She could be a demon," Fenris repeated, not allowing himself to trust the thing before them.

"Proving that either way would require time we do not have," the spirit – or the Divine – said.

"Really?" Hawke said with a dry laugh. "How hard is it to answer one question? I'm a human, and you are…"

"Here to help you," she said shortly. "You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor."

Fenris scowled. "If you're the Divine, how do you know his title? You were dead by the time we reached Skyhold."

"Stranger things than mind reading have happened in the Fade," Anders said lightly. "And Cole can - well, not the best comparison, all things considered. Are you reading my mind?" Anders asked her.

"Your memories," she said. "Stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare that you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. But Corypheus is using it to further his own agenda. It follows him willingly because he can give it more power." She looked from Anders to Stroud and back again. "The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work."

"Then we have to stop it," Stroud said. "I would gladly avenge my brothers by slaying this demon."

"You will have your chance, brave Warden," the Divine said. "This place of darkness is its lair."

A chill of realization fluttered through their group, and Fenris felt it, the fear almost palpable.

Anders slowly turned to look at Erimond. "The demon you were trying to bring through the Rift."

"Yes," the Divine said, answering him.

"It's a giant Nightmare that feeds on fear and darkness and terror and all things horrifying."

"I… well," Erimond stuttered, "it… was… strictly speaking, you see, it's a good thing! It eats your fears to leave you capable of doing other things. Like fighting darkspawn and other demons!" he said, unhelpfully.

"Fear can be healthy," Anders said. "Fear keeps you alive. And this… thing that's been devouring the world's fears, you were going to bring that into the world through the Veil. Are you mad or just completely stupid?!" He whirled back around, obviously not wanting an answer. "So it's close. It's near here?" he asked the Divine.

"Yes."

"Shit," Anders swore, running a hand back through his hair. "All right." He turned toward them. "New plan. We find our way to the rift, somehow battle the giant fear demon without dying, and escape."

"We can throw Livius at it, like you suggested," Dorian said.

Erimond scowled at him.

"There is one thing," the Divine said, and Anders turned again to look at her. "When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Those memories. You must recover them."

Anders swallowed hard and nodded. "I understand."

"Do not worry. I will help you."

"Until she tries to eat your soul," Fenris added.

Anders half-smiled, looking at him. "Don't worry. Justice is very protective of it."

He wasn't exactly emboldened by Anders' confidence, but having no other choice, Fenris allowed himself to bed led further into the Fade.


	21. Chapter 21

Spirits were easy to avoid in the Fade, Fenris learned, though he was still incredibly unnerved. With every step he felt as if he was going to fall up into the sky, like some new-to-the-surface dwarf. The difference being that there was a very real chance of that happening here. The fog rolling across the surface of the ground didn't feel real, nor did the ground itself. By keeping his eyes straight and focused on the back of Anders' head, he was able to keep pace. They were attacked twice by two different groups of wisps, barely corporeal and likely confused or angered by their presence. They, like Fenris, knew that they didn't belong here. He wondered if this was what spirits and demons summoned into their world felt like. Were they scared? Confused? Solas would have the answers, and he found himself wishing he was with them so he could ask.

No one spoke as they trudged the craggy terrain, the ground going from soft almost silt-like dirt to jagged rocks. The sky never changed, green in the distance to where they were headed, and Fenris looked around once. A great city in what passed for the clouds here. The _Black_ City. He looked away just as quickly, a hollow empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. It felt like a punch to the gut and for a moment he felt winded and sick. The whole place resonated with a definite _wrongness_ , and he was seconds away from clawing his own brain out just to escape. His obstinacy wasn't helping, as he knew he could seek comfort from Dorian if he only allowed himself, but pride stayed his hand.

"There," Anders said, following the Divine. He pointed just ahead.

A swirling green mist hung in the air looking almost like a Fade rift, but softer. Anders held his palm up, and a tendril of light gently twisted from it toward the mist, reaching. Connection made, and it emitted a burst of light so bright, it nearly blinded them. The area around them shifted, the Fade still visible but as if through a thick curtain of smoke. And in the smoke, a vision of a room. The Divine held aloft by some type of binding magic.

"What is this?" Stroud asked. "What are we seeing?"

"I think… it's my memory," Anders said. "Of the Temple. The stones look familiar. I remember sneaking in…"

Hawke grunted in disapproval but said nothing, his eyes fixed somewhere just beyond the Divine in the vision. And Fenris saw it. Grey Wardens, perhaps half a dozen or more. They were the ones holding her aloft.

"Why are you doing this?" the Divine gasped. "You of all people!"

"Now is the hour of our victory."

That voice. Anders straightened at once, and Hawke's hand flew to his sword. But you couldn't fight a memory. Fenris, who went through something similar with Solas, felt his chest ache in sympathy for Anders. To lose your memories and then have them shown to you, it was jarring at best, traumatic at worst.

"Keep the sacrifice still."

Corypheus emerged from the smoke. It was Erimond's reaction Fenris found curious. He stepped back quickly, almost as if he expected to be struck by a vision, and hid – no, cowered – behind Dorian. Dorian simply watched, his expression indiscernible as the scene played out. Corypheus held a glowing green orb in his clawed hand, the same glow of green that came from Anders' hand when they got too near a rift.

"Someone help me!"

"I saw this," Anders said, frowning. "I saw… I heard her cry out. I didn't know it was the Divine but she sounded like she was in trouble, so I-"

"So of course you ran headlong into it," Hawke said, sounding exasperated. But there was a note of admiration to his words.

Anders smiled apologetically at him.

The door in the vision burst open, Anders rushing in. "What in the-" His mouth dropped open as he laid eyes on Corypheus. "You!"

The Divine took advantage of Corypheus's distraction, knocking the orb from his hand. It rolled across the floor and Anders bent down, scooping it up. His eyes glowed blue as the orb crackled with energy, a deep inhuman scream escaping his throat. Corypheus cried out in anger and threw himself at Anders but the orb exploded in a shower of green energy.

"Anders!" Fenris realized as the vision faded that Anders had fallen to his hands and knees. He was at his side first.

"Don't…" Anders breathed, voice deep and reverberating, skin crackling with blue. "Don't touch. Us."

Hawke knelt down in front of him, reaching out and grabbing his shoulders. "AH!"

Fenris saw steam rise from Hawke's palms, burned as if he stuck them in a fire. Anders was heaving with every breath.

"What in the Maker's name is wrong with him? Is it the demon inside him?" came Erimond's voice, followed by a dull thud of Dorian hitting him in the stomach and a pained, "Ow!"

Anders looked up, clutching his head, eyes glowing with the blue light they always did when his spirit came too close to the surface. Fenris wanted to back away, to run and hide, but he wouldn't. He knew what it was like to remember something painful. But how necessary it was.

"Anders, you have to concentrate," Fenris said sharply, unaware he'd started to speak. "Listen to me. Take a deep breath. You're in the Fade. You are not at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. That time has passed. You're here now, surrounded by friends. By people who care. Hawke is here with you. Do you hear me?"

"I hear…" Anders said, voice still deep, his head dropped, chin to his chest. He drew in a deep breath, held, and released. "I hear."

"Hawke is hurt. He needs you. You need to concentrate. Do not let your spirit control you, Anders. Do not let your fear take you. It was only a memory. A remembrance of the past. It can't hurt you anymore. Not unless you let it. Take control of yourself."

The cracks in his skin closed slowly, wisps of blue smoke dissipating. Anders looked up, eyes open now, a honey amber color, slightly unfocused, and full of fear. Fenris hesitated but put a hand on his arm. Anders jumped; looked at him. Fenris gripped it just shy of hurting him.

"Good. You're back. Heal Hawke. He's hurt."

"It's not-" Hawke started.

"Hurt?" Anders asked, looking down. "Oh Maker," he breathed, grabbing Hawke's hands. He healed one, then the other. "I'm so sorry, love. I'm so… I didn't mean…"

"It's fine," Hawke said. "Anders, look at me. Anders." He pulled his hands from Anders' and cupped his face.

Fenris stood and moved away to give them their privacy. Hawke leaned forward and kissed Anders soundly, almost desperately.

"We… should take rest here," Stroud suggested, and walked a short distance from the rest of the group.

Fenris looked up, catching Dorian's eye and frowned. Dorian tilted his head slightly and turned to Stroud, tapping him on the shoulder. He waved a hand at Erimond, and Stroud nodded. Fenris took a breath as Dorian approached him.

"That was good, what you did."

Fenris bit back the caustic reply. Perhaps something like, 'Thank you for the praise, Master,' or 'I don't need your approval.' Everything that came to mind was a scathing remark, the fear and frustration he felt at the idea of being tossed aside once they returned to Tevinter bubbling to the service. But as angry as he was, he was too shaken to continue alienating Dorian right now. He needed something solid to hold onto, and Dorian was offering that comfort. So instead of the many nasty things he could think to say, he merely nodded.

"Walk with me a bit?"

Fenris nodded again, moving with Dorian not too far from the others, still in view but out of hearing range. "I…"

"No. Let me speak, please," Dorian implored. "This is not the place to have this conversation. And Fenris, I don't know if I ever can truly answer all your fears. But what I told you, I mean it. I want whatever it is we have together… this relationship, this feeling I get whenever I look at you, for as long as I can. We'll return to Tevinter eventually but that doesn't mean it has to end. And when that time comes we'll deal with it together, because that is, I am told, what couples do."

"Couples," Fenris repeated.

"Out of that entire flowery speech, that's what you choose to focus on?" Dorian laughed.

"The… feeling you get?" Fenris tried again, looking up at him.

Dorian's fingers felt warm on the back of his neck as he pulled him close. "Yes, if you must know. It's insanely saccharine to put it into words."

Fenris reached up, gripping his wrist, thumb brushing over the back of his hand. "Try."

"Oh very well," Dorian sighed, their lips close enough to kiss. "I get this silly little thrill that alights every nerve in my body. Like a shiver down my spine. I look at you and I want to smile. I see the strong, proud person that you've become and it makes me want to do better for myself, to become someone better. I see the things you've done… how could I aspire to do any less? And then I think, 'Dorian, he's your lover. He chose you. You are the luckiest son of a bitch in Thedas.' And then I want to smile again like a giddy schoolgirl who's smitten with her first crush. And when you're angry with me… when I say something or do something that upsets you, it breaks my heart a little. Because I never want to hurt you."

Fenris exhaled in a rush and closed the small gap between them, kissing Dorian deeply. He was stupid for thinking Dorian would throw him away so easily. That once they returned to Tevinter he would just be a slave or a servant again. That he was a dalliance of Dorian's and that Dorian would choose his duty to his position over him. But still, to hear it, and to hear how Dorian felt… He pulled back, breathing heavily.

"I love you."

Dorian laughed, shaky and scared. "I… ah… well. Wow."

"Don't say it unless you mean it," Fenris whispered. "But I had to… I couldn't… if we die here…"

"Shh," Dorian said, now cupping his face with both hands. "Shh. Don't say that."

"It may happen," Fenris muttered, forehead pressed against Dorian's. He clutched his robe desperately with one hand, the other still gripping his wrist. "I love you, and I wanted to say it."

Stroud clearing his throat interrupted them. "We're ready to move on. …Apologies."

Fenris closed his eyes, wishing he could justify ripping the Warden's organs from his body. But Anders wouldn't thank him for that. He kissed Dorian again quickly before pulling away. "Let's move on, then." He looked back at Dorian, trying to smile, to show him that he understood. It hurt that he hadn't said it back, but he would force himself not to let it bother him. Instead, he reached out his hand.

Dorian took it. And smiled.


	22. Chapter 22

They trekked further into the Fade, growing weary. Either they would need to find the way out soon, or they would have to stop and sleep. The idea of sleeping in the Fade frankly terrified Fenris. He heard terrible things about magisters who manipulated the Fade, who spent days and weeks in a waking dream and forgot about their lives in the real world. When they returned, they were confused and disoriented. Only the most skilled managed to stay in for long. There was a reason mortals only dreamt of the Fade, after all. To forget a dream, to forget the Fade, it was normal. How did you sleep inside a dream, anyway? A question that made his head ache and he pushed that thought away. Hopefully they would be out soon.

And how much time had actually passed? It could have been an hour or just a few minutes, Fenris had no idea. Time didn't seem to exist here, which was preposterous. Even if the spirits had no way of keeping the time, he knew how long an hour was, how many seconds would pass. Though Danarius never allowed him to read, he could tell time. It was important, after all. If he needed to be attending his master at six in the evening, he couldn't be late. But here there was no sun, no moon, not even wind, though they walked along what appeared to be a coastline, the water lapping at the rocky shore, mimicry of an ocean or a lake.

"So the mark did not come from Andraste," Stroud said. "It came from the orb Corypheus used in his ritual."

"Considering he tried to use the orb to rip it out of my hand," Anders said, looking down at it. "It does make sense."

"But the woman," Dorian pointed out. "People at Haven said they saw Andraste behind you, guiding you out. That's why they think you're the Herald."

"So," Stroud said, "even if the mark came from Corypheus, She still guided you."

"Well, how else would you explain our Inquisitor's good fortune?" Dorian asked, his disposition quite cheerful.

Erimond scoffed.

"Do you want Hawke to hit you again?" Dorian asked, tone unchanging. "Because I'm sure he'd love to. Or Fenris?"

"Yes, have your pet do your dirty work for you," Erimond sneered. "Dorian Pavus thinking he's so much better than the rest of us because he doesn't fuck slaves. See how the tides have turned."

Dorian's staff dragged the ground in front of Erimond and he gave a sharp jab, shoving it between Erimond's feet, causing him to trip. Erimond cried out in surprise as he fell to his hands and knees.

"Clumsy, Livius. Should have paid more attention in your dancing lessons. Up you get." As Erimond started to get to his feet, Dorian turned his staff, lodging it between Erimond's legs once more and twisted it viciously, knocking him back down. Dorian crouched to look him in the eye. "Call him a slave again and I shove the pointed end up a place you won't enjoy," he said with a grin, and straightened before walking on.

Fenris smirked as he followed, stepping over Erimond who eventually managed to get to his feet. Though it was a rather deliberate display, he was pleased that Dorian so readily defended him.

"You are almost there," the Divine said. "Once you recover all that the Nightmare took from you, you may leave his lair."

"More memories?" Anders asked. "There was more after… I thought that was it. The explosion and… no. I remember running… something was chasing me?"

"That ought to be a pleasant vision," Dorian sighed. "We'll be with you, Anders."

Anders glanced back to smile, but it was short, pained. "Once we find it, then we can leave this place. For good, I hope. Hawke?"

Fenris noticed Hawke's shoulders were rounded, head down, and he'd been quiet. He looked up, not at Anders, but at Stroud. "I was wondering if you were concerned about the Grey Wardens holding the Divine in Anders' vision." His voice was steady but there was something dangerous in his tone. "Their actions led to her death."

Stroud lifted his chin almost defiantly. "I assumed Corypheus had taken their minds, as you have seen him do." He sighed. "We can argue after we leave this place."

Hawke clenched his fists, gauntlets creaking. "I intend to."

"Do you think the Inquisition will make the Wardens pay?" Fenris asked in a whisper to Dorian.

Dorian shrugged lightly. "I don't agree with their methods. But I wouldn't want to go crawling around in the Deep Roads searching for darkspawn and Archdemons. They had the right idea, perhaps, but blood magic…"

"You're pathetic," Erimond said, overhearing their conversation. "You'll never take the power that's right there in front of you. And that's why you're weak. Or maybe you think that if you try, you'll fail and end up an abomination. That would ruin your pretty little face, wouldn't it?"

"It's like an annoying gnat buzzing around your face that you just can't swat," Dorian sighed.

"I could," Fenris said offhandedly. "I have a sword. It's good for swatting."

"But then you'd get it all coated in blood and we'd have to stop and clean it. Frankly I'm not sure it's worth the effort." Dorian tutted.

"True," Fenris agreed. "I do have your handkerchief to wipe it down but I wouldn't want to sully it with the blood of an annoying bug."

"You're so stupidly sentimental. I do like that about you."

"Stop talking about me as if I'm not here!" Erimond snapped.

Dorian snickered and Fenris couldn't help but smirk. Somehow it was difficult to be afraid of Erimond away from his enslaved Wardens. He was pitiable, with only his words to truly cause harm. He might be a magister, but he wasn't his master. He was powerless to do anything, and it almost took the fun out his sarcastic banter with Dorian. Almost.

A voice, deep and smooth resonated overhead, though it sounded almost as if it was coming from inside their own heads. "Ah. We have a visitor."

Anders stopped and so did the rest of them, listening, waiting.

"Some foolish little boy comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from his shoulders."

Anders' jaw twitched, eyes narrowed.

"You should have thanked me," the voice continued, "and left your fear where it lay, forgotten."

"This is the demon you were trying to bring through," Dorian said, looking at Erimond. "I can see why you like it. It's almost as dramatic as you are."

But the demon continued, its voice like a warm summer wind, lulling Fenris toward it. He shook his head roughly, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. He was used to rage demons and pride demons, even those of despair or desire. Trained as a slave, he had no temptation to give into, and the work he did for his master was his only pride. He had nothing to desire for himself and no memories of his own to despair of. But fear? Fear was something he knew intimately.

"You think that pain will make you stronger," the demon laughed. "What fool filled your mind with such drivel?"

"I'm not listening," Anders said through gritted teeth.

It seemed that Fenris wasn't the only one who knew fear well. Hawke, looking murderous, wrapped his fingers tightly around Anders' arm, and Anders let out a shaking breath.

"The only one who grows stronger from your fears is me," the demon concluded.

Dorian looked at Erimond, one hand on a cocked hip, disapproval set firmly in his expression. "You see, this is why we cannot have nice things, Livius. You and the rest of your Venatori fanatics wanting to use demons like THIS as a means to achieve your end. But no, can't trust a demon. You lose control and then suddenly everyone at your ball is an abomination."

"But you are a guest in my home."

"Is it _STILL_ talking?!" Dorian shouted.

Fenris realized suddenly what was wrong, why Dorian was acting this way. The fear demon had them all in his grip. Anders was trying to fight it, Hawke was angry, and Dorian was deflecting with sarcasm and humor. Erimond looked cowed, and Stroud's expression could have mirrored Hawke's. As for himself… he looked down at his hands, his sword suddenly missing.

The demon laughed, sending a shiver down his spine, the hair on the back of his neck standing up.

"Let me welcome you properly," it said.

And when Fenris looked up, he was alone.


	23. Chapter 23

"Fenris, come here."

"Yes, Master."

His neck felt heavy, weighed down by a thick silver collar, chains looped from it to the manacles around his wrists. They were cold, uncomfortable. His back ached with that afternoon's punishment, raised welts and bruises. The cuts were healed though, his master wouldn't want to leave them open to infection. He crawled on his hands and knees, the carpet soft beneath his skin, and he was naked. Danarius sat before him in a winged back armchair, sipping a glass of blood-red wine.

"You know why I had to punish you?"

"Yes, Master."

"Tell me."

"B-because Mistress Hadriana requested I attend to her. And I didn't."

"That's right. And why didn't you?"

"Master, please, I-"

A sharp backhand and he fell to the floor, weak and shaking, helpless.

"Hadriana is my apprentice. You are my slave. If I order you to listen to her, you will listen. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master," Fenris whispered, moving to kneel. He wanted to rub his cheek where it stung, but didn't.

"Good. She'll be here shortly. You'll have the opportunity to rectify your transgressions."

A moment later the door opened, Hadriana's footfalls soft on the carpet. Danarius stood and allowed her to take his seat. They exchanged a quick, quiet conversation, and Danarius left without so much as touching or even addressing Fenris. That, more than anything, hurt. He would take a thousand lashes on his back, but to be ignored by his master… It was shameful.

"Now," Hadriana said, sneering, "you will listen to every order I give. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," Fenris said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

This wasn't right though. He knew it wasn't right as Hadriana undressed. He felt fingers twist in his hair painfully, and tried to remember. This wasn't real. It may have happened, but it wasn't real. It wasn't happening now. He was in the Fade. He was with…

"Dorian."

"What did you say?" Hadriana snapped. She raised a hand as if to slap him.

Fenris looked up. "You are not my master. I have no master."

She swung, and Fenris reached up, catching her by the wrist. His chains were gone and he got to his feet, fully dressed, his armor in place. He looked down at his free hand, his sword materializing. Hadriana gasped, stepping back.

"I will kill you," Fenris promised. "And I will kill Danarius."

"No! No, you can't!"

Fenris glared. "I will not let this fear take me! Release me!"

A cackling laughter came from somewhere above him, and the room he stood in melted like candlewax, the greyish-green colors of the Fade returning at once, the craggy rocks beneath his boots, and the indecipherable feeling of unease. But it was not fear. The demon would not have him. Taking a breath, he stepped forward a bit shakily.

"Did you think that you were free, Fenris?"

Fenris stopped, closing his eyes, hearing the words of the fear demon.

"Did you think you could ever escape that life? That Felix and his father would look at you like you were an equal? You were sent on a mission, Fenris, to keep Dorian safe. And you couldn't even do that, could you? Where is he now?"

"I will find him," Fenris snarled, eyes snapping open.

"Even if you do, then what? Return to Tevinter? Were you so foolish to think that this pretty little life you've imagined for yourself would continue? He couldn't even tell you that he loves you. He doesn't love anyone, Fenris. He's spoiled and selfish, and would allow others to die for him. Others like you. He's hoping you die, so he can lament your loss and then return to comfortable Tevinter."

"No."

Fenris refused to believe it. The demon was taking all the little doubts he had in his own mind and trying to convince him they was real. They weren't. Dorian might be spoiled and selfish but he was noble. He would have left Tevinter regardless, he didn't resent Fenris for it. And he didn't want Fenris to die so he could go back. It was wrong, it was all wrong. Dorian _did_ love him. Cared for him. Even if he didn't say it, he could hear the whispered, _Amatus_ in his ear. See the smile that touched Dorian's lips when he looked at him. Dorian saw him as an equal, someone worth loving.

"You," Fenris breathed, "are a liar. And I will find him and we will leave this accursed place."

The demon laughed, but said nothing else.

-

A big celebration. Though not his bread and butter, he would humbly accept the accolades given to him. After all, it was impressive to graduate from such a prestigious academy, and he'd done so with honors. His tutor trained him in both sword and riding, and he was proud to uphold his family's name in such a way. His older brother would take on the family duties, marry and Maker-willing, produce many heirs. While he, Stroud, would carry the title of Chevalier, an honorable position for any young noble.

A knock on the door. "Ser Jean-Marc?"

Stroud turned, unable to keep from smiling at the title, and gestured for the messenger to enter. "What is it? Tell me they're starting the ball early, Maker, I am not ready." He would have called for a valet, but as a proud soldier, he refused to let a few buttons outdo him.

"Ser, there's… news." The messenger held out a silver plate with a letter on it.

Frowning, Stroud took it, broke the seal and read.

"No."

The room wavered and faded, disappearing. He stumbled through the streets, sword in hand. _Bandits,_ the letter said. Bandits broke into his family's estate, slaughtered his family, killed his mother, father. His brother, Stephane. No. No, Maker, why? It couldn't be true. And he knew it wasn't, just a convenient lie. Bandits that far into the city? Somehow getting past the guards, the dogs, the servants, leaving them all unharmed and murdering his family in their beds? He would get revenge on the bastard who did it!

"Wait. No."

This wasn't right. This happened years ago, nearly two decades. He wasn't here. He was in the Fade. He dropped to a knee, head bowed, taking several deep breaths.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter," he whispered, hands clasped together. "Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

"Hello, Stroud."

"Demon," he returned, but otherwise ignored it. "Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide."

"You think your absent Maker stronger than I? I who am the sum of all your deepest, darkest fears? You let your family die. You were going to seek vengeance for their wrongful deaths. But you did not. You joined the pathetic order of the Grey Wardens and even now it pains you to be in the very country where your family's blood was shed. You are a coward."

"There is no darkness in the Maker's light." Stroud took a breath. "Release me, demon. I do not fear you, nor do I fear myself."

The demon laughed, and the streets of Orlais faded, rolling away like fog across a bay, leaving behind only the Fade that Stroud recognized. He stood, sheathing his sword. Feeling shaken but stalwart, emboldened by his faith and knowledge that memories could not hurt him, he moved on.


	24. Chapter 24

Darktown.

Kirkwall.

Freezing.

Anders shivered as he paced in his clinic, pulling his threadbare coat around himself. He had another, a better one up in Hawke's mansion. But he didn't want to wear it traipsing through the sewers. They had a mission, another mage to rescue from the wretched Gallows. The prison sat in the middle of the bay, more ominous than Fereldan's Circle had ever been. Back when he was young, when escaping the Circle was a game and meant a brief punishment. Peeling potatoes or a quick flogging, lines to write. But the last time… the time when they threw him in a deep, dark pit and left him for a year. Infrequent meals, the darkness of the cell. Oh he had light, wisps he summoned so he could read the books down there, but the rest of the floor, completely black.

It was black now. The lights in his clinic were out. What in the Void was going on? He walked. A long, dark corridor and he felt the walls closing in on him. No. Just a little further. Get to the ladder. Get to Hawke's basement. Climb. Keep climbing. But they didn't lead to Hawke's basement. He was in the Hanged Man. Relief. No more oppressive darkness closing in on him.

"Varric?"

"Leave me alone, Anders."

_Anders._ Anders, not Blondie.

"Varric, what's going-"

"You killed people, Anders. You disgust me. Get out. I never want to see you again."

"But Varric, I… I…"

"You let that thing take hold of you, and you used it to justify killing innocent people! This is your fault!"

Anders ran, Varric's voice ringing in his ears. No. No! It wasn't right. Varric would never say that to him. He had to get to Hawke. He had to find Hawke.

"I never liked you, you know."

Isabela, glaring at him.

"You were good in bed. But any mage can do that electricity thing. You're such a bore, Anders. I don't know why Hawke keeps you around. He'd be so much happier with someone else. Like me."

No. Hawke loved him. Even if… no, this wasn't real.

"You talk about blood magic like it's so evil."

Merrill, her normally cheerful face devoid of all happiness. Just anger and sorrow now.

"But you went and got yourself possessed. You're an abomination and you look down at me for my beliefs? You're nothing but a hypocrite!"

"You deserved to die."

Aveline. Dressed not in the uniform Kirkwall's Guard, but templar plate. Her dead husband's shield in hand.

"You killed all those people, Anders, and you didn't even pay the price. Hawke should have killed you. Should have put that dagger in your back."

"I will hunt you, Anders."

The thick, Starkhaven accent, bright blue eyes narrowed in pure hatred. Sebastian Vael, an army behind him.

"I will hunt you. And I will find you. And I will show you the _true_ meaning of Justice."

The darkness pressing in again on him, crushing his chest. He had to run. To Hightown. Yes. Yes, Hawke's mansion was there. He burst through the front door, trying to breathe, and ran up the stairs.

"Hawke!" He flung open the bedroom door but suddenly he was in the Gallows, in Meredith's office. She stood there, gaze icy and unforgiving. Hawke next to her. "Hawke!"

He hugged him tightly, face buried in his chest, sobbing. Hawke shushed him, petting his hair, holding him.

"It's all right, love," Hawke said, kissing his forehead. "It's all right."

"Varric and Isabela. And Merrill," Anders choked out. "They all… It's wrong, it's so wrong. I never meant… I wanted… You stand with me, right? You wouldn't ever kill…" 

He remembered that night, sitting, awaiting his fate. He expected the sharp bite of Hawke's dagger in his back, the blinding pain, the sweet release of death. But Hawke merely took him into his arms like this, held him for what seemed like forever. And yet he still waited. The final goodbye, a dagger in the heart maybe, instead of the back. Less cruel. Or more. But Hawke surprised him, tilting his head up, kissing him, promising him he wouldn't let anything happen to him. Hawke, the one person on whom he could fully depend. He trusted him.

"No, Anders," Hawke soothed. "I won't let them kill you."

Templars flooded the room suddenly, the clanking of plate metal, and Anders shivered violently in Hawke's arms, pressing against him, trying to crawl inside his lover's skin just to get away from the noise.

Meredith cleared her throat. "As Knight-Commander of the city of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Rite of Tranquility on the apostate abomination known as Anders, former member of the Fereldan Circle of Magi."

"NO!" Anders screamed, struggling wildly. "No you can't!"

But Hawke's grip was too strong, he was holding him, pinning him. A templar stepped forward and Anders realized it was Alrik, his cold dead stare coming closer, the red hot brand of the Chantry's sunburst in his hand.

"Hawke, please! Garrett, please, I love you, please don't let them do this to me!" He was crying, sobbing, incoherent now as he pleaded, kicking his feet up, trying to run, but Hawke was too strong.

"Shh, love," Hawke whispered, nuzzling his tear-streaked cheeks. "Shh. It will be over soon. All over soon."

The brand lifted, came closer and closer toward his forehead. Anders could see it, vision doubling through the tears, feel the heat as it neared his skin.

"STOP!"

The door flung wide and all at once everything disappeared. Everything except Hawke. Another Hawke, the one holding him vanished with the rest. Anders blacked out, falling to the ground, but Hawke caught him.

"Anders? Anders, baby, open your eyes. Look at me," Hawke pleaded. "I'm here, I've got you. I won't let them hurt you."

"Won't you?"

Hawke looked up into a face near identical to his own. He knew this man, knew his voice. Remembered him. Malcolm Hawke died over ten years ago, when Hawke was just leaving his teenage years behind him.

"Father."

Malcolm glared down at him. "You think you can save your precious Anders? Why? Because you're so very good at saving people, Garrett?"

Hawke's breath caught at the accusation. He looked down, shouting in surprise. A corpse. His mother's. Her face after Quentin cobbled her together and animated her again using blood magic. "No."

"I left you as the man of the family, Garrett. Told you to take care of them. To protect them. And what happened?"

Leandra's body faded, turned to Carver. To Bethany. Each dead because he wasn't fast enough, smart enough, strong enough. He wasn't good enough. Around him, Kirkwall burned. The shouts and screams of those around him. Qunari attacking, and the head of Viscount Dumar rolling down the steps of the keep. The faces of all the people he couldn't save, flashing before him.

"Do you think you can save Anders?" Malcolm asked.

Kirkwall faded to blackness, and Hawke knelt, fists clenched tightly, anger coiled in his chest.

"Perhaps from others," Malcolm continued, pacing in front of him. "You can keep him safe from templars and Grey Wardens and assassins. You can even keep him safe from Corypheus. But can you save him from himself? Anders is going to die, Garrett. Just like everyone you've ever loved. Whether it's now or later, something will kill him. The Calling? His own descent into madness? Justice turning, taking Anders with him, an abomination twisted and cruel. Will you slide the dagger into his heart then?"

Hawke slowly got to his feet. Looked up. He was shaking not with fear, but with rage. "He doesn't need to be saved from himself. I believe in him. What he's doing. His cause. And I will stand by him."

"Hawke."

Hawke turned, Anders standing before him, alive and whole. A second later they were in each other's arms, hugging tightly, clinging.

"Is it real?" Anders whispered.

Hawke took a breath, one hand at the back of Anders' head, holding him, not wanting to let go. "No. It's not. But I am. You are. We're here. Together."

"Together," Anders agreed.

The fear demon laughed, and they were back in the Fade, away from the nightmare. Hawke kissed him, needing something more, needing to make sure the vision was truly gone. Anders returned it, hands flat against his breastplate, before pulling back.

"I saw… horrible things," Anders said quietly.

Hawke brushed back a lock of hair from his face, kissed him softly on the forehead, where the brand would have been. "So did I. But it's not real. We'll get out of this."

Anders nodded, and neither let go of the others hand as they walked on through the Fade.


	25. Chapter 25

Mm. Delicious chocolate-dipped fruits. Strawberries were his favorite. He reached for another.

"If you continue to eat those, you won't be able to fit into your robes and your father will be so very angry."

Dorian looked up. A boy of fourteen, home on holiday from his training in the Circle, he asked the servants to bring up a plate of something to snack on while he read in the courtyard. He loved the sun, the warmth, and enjoyed being outside more than anything. Well, he loved his father quite a bit, which was why he put the strawberry down at his mother's behest.

"You need to have your hair cut," his mother continued. "And… did you pierce your ears?"

Dorian reached up to touch one of the golden hoops. An older boy in the Circle had his pierced, quite a few holes, actually, and not all in his ears. Dorian had seen so personally, remarking on how painful it must have been. That was, of course, right before they tumbled into his bed. But Mother would never know about that.

"Alexius didn't care," Dorian said, reverting to one of his age-old arguments. He'd written to the man personally years ago after going over an array of potential prospects for tutors and someone to help with his education. He chose Alexius because he'd already known him and his son, the Pavus family moving in the same social circles as the Alexiuses. Though often annoyed by children younger than himself, he found Felix somewhat endearing and they always got along whenever they were together.

"Alexius is not your father. Up you get. Go. Your father wants to talk to you."

She swatted him and he moved quickly, scowling. The halls changed slightly, as they did over the years. He cut his hair and removed the earrings, but not his rebellious spirit. But this was passed, wasn't it? He'd been through this years ago, he left Tevinter, his parents. His overbearing mother who wanted to control every aspect of his life, told him how to dress and what to eat and how a proper young man should act in society. He preferred Alexius's house, and only regretted not spending more time with his father.

"Dorian."

Dorian was older now, but more nervous than he'd ever been before going to speak to his father. His father was growing tired of his ducking and dodging marriage prospects, and while they might never have had a face-to-face argument about Dorian's predilections toward men, he was sure his parents knew. He tried to be discreet, if only out of respect for his father. It wouldn't do to flaunt it in his face, but not every brothel madam kept her mouth shut, and a scion of one of Tevinter's upper houses visiting a _male_ whore was juicy gossip. Not that it was talked about in polite company. He looked at his father, and remembered.

This night.

"No."

"Dorian, come. Sit. We have much to talk about."

"No, I won't!"

It was the night his father bled him. After several hours of cajoling, persuading, begging, Dorian finally gave in to him. He didn't want to. And the first and last night of that horrible ritual left him sick, unable to move. The slaves had to carry him to bed and he vomited half the night, shaking and sweating and writhing in pain. He left as soon as he was able, fleeing as he so often had done, to Alexius.

"We need to complete this ritual, Dorian. So you can be normal."

"I _am_ normal!" Dorian shouted, stepping away, his back hitting the door. "There is nothing wrong with me!"

"Dorian, please."

"I won't, Father! I won't marry someone I don't love and I won't go through with your barbaric blood magic ritual. I won't let you change me."

"It's for the best."

Panic. Fear. His chest constricting, he thought he was going to die. He couldn't breathe, like drowning in a pit of darkness. And at once he saw Alexius's face before him, full of concern, urging him to talk to his father. Then Felix, hugging him tightly, promising him he would be okay, that they would take care of him.

"My friends," Dorian managed.

"Do you think they'll stand by you?" But the voice was not his father's. It was deep, penetrating. "Your 'friends'. They were happy when you left. A stain on their good name."

"Lies," Dorian hissed, covering his face. He tried to recall Felix's parting words. Brothers, they were brothers. Family.

"You could never be the son Felix was. Your father will always view you as a disappointment. If only you'd give in, Dorian. Let him fix you."

Oily, slithering words, like a desire demon knowing exactly how to manipulate, to give him what he wanted. He could give in. Marry. Become the son his father deserved.

_But what about Fenris?_

He'd made a promise to him. One he wouldn't recant – didn't want to recant. He remembered seeing Fenris for the first time, standing in Alexius's dining room, lyrium lines calling attention to this quiet, broken slave. And he was… beautiful. Dorian found himself instantly attracted to him, felt the shame of it, of _wanting_. And what made it worse? Fenris was a slave. If Dorian wanted him, Fenris couldn't say no. He pushed his wanting away, disgusted with himself. But Fenris gave himself willingly.

_"I love you."_

And it wasn't the plaintive declaration of a slave to his master. Fenris was his in the same way that he belonged to Fenris. And if his father couldn't accept that, then Dorian would never return home. And he knew he had come to terms with it. He was at peace.

Droplets of color, like turpentine on a painting, slowly spattered over the vision of his father's sitting room until they were washed away like a cleansing rain until only the Fade remained.

"You'll have to do better than that!" Dorian snarled at the darkness. With a confident 'Hmph!' of triumph, he walked further into the Fade.

-

"Are you all right?"

That was the question among them when they found one another, Hawke with his arm wrapped firmly around Anders as they approached. Dorian immediately took Fenris by the waist, pulling him close and kissing him deeply, ignoring Stroud's embarrassed cough. Fenris groaned, leaning back as Dorian did something wholly indecent with his tongue against his own, and would have pulled him to the ground right there if it wasn't for the fact that they had an audience. It seemed everyone, like himself, had gone through something horrible and traumatic. A memory, a fear, a nightmare, something terrible. They were all shaken, and all in need of comfort. Anders removed a vial of elfroot potion from his pack and they each took a swig, able to use to the potion to settle their nerves.

"Wait," Dorian said, looking around. "Where is Livius?"

"NOOOO! PLEASE STOP! HELP!"

They ran toward the shouts, Anders getting to Erimond first, who was curled up, rocking back and forth, locked in the fear demon's clutches. Anders drew back his hand and with a resounding _SLAP_ knocked Erimond from whatever waking nightmare he'd found himself in.

"What? What? What is… Maker, I think I had too much to drink again. Don't tell Servis I drank all his-" He stopped babbling at once, looking up, lips curling into a sneer. "What are you all staring at? Shouldn't you be… I don't know, kissing babies or rescuing kittens?"

Dorian sighed. "We should've left him."

A collective muttering of agreement, and they turned and walked on, leaving Erimond scrambling to catch up.


	26. Chapter 26

They fought their way through another pack of wisps and smaller demons that fed from the fear and nightmares the larger one left behind. Like maggots upon festering flesh, they crawled and devoured. Fenris fought each one with determination despite his fatigue as they turned into Danarius or Hadriana, laughing at him, sneering. He didn't ask the others what they saw, but did hear Hawke say something about, "Maker damned spiders." Dorian looked drained after, and Fenris kept a close eye on him.

"I'm fine," Dorian assured him. "Idle things. Won't hurt me."

"I won't let them," Fenris promised.

Dorian smiled. "I know."

"I may vomit," Erimond said from behind them, which they ignored.

The spirit of the Divine or the demon, whatever she was, waited patiently for them near another swirling mist of green light. Anders steeled himself before lifting his palm toward it. Like before, a blinding wash of whiteness filled the area. Smoke curled around them in another vision. Fenris saw the skittering nightmare demons, pincers raised as they raced after two people. A woman, far ahead, and Anders, who slipped and fell and scrambled to his feet.

"This is it," Anders said. "This is the Breach. This is how I escaped. But…"

A jutting rock, a steep staircase, and Anders in the vision climbed, the demons following quickly. The woman at the top yelled for him and Fenris saw her face. The face of Divine Justinia. Anders gained the top of the rock; they were running for the rift that would let them escape. A startled cry, a demon pulling the Divine back. Anders turning, reaching for her, shouting to hold on as he grabbed her hand. Everything was suddenly silent, the chittering of the nightmares, the crumbling of the rocks, the wind, all stilled. And they all heard the Divine's whispered order:

"Go."

Like an ocean wave against the rocks, the silence broke, sound returning full force, crashing over them. Anders leapt through the rift and the vision faded. He was still standing, but clutching his head and Hawke was there, holding him, whispering to him.

"It… was you," Anders whispered, looking up at the spirit. "Everyone thought… I thought it was Andraste who shielded me, who helped me escape, but it wasn't her. It was you. It was the Divine. The _Divine_ saved me."

"She must not have known who you were," Erimond said haughtily.

His insult went ignored.

"And she… she died," Anders said, sounding pained. "She died. She gave up her life for mine. Why would she…"

"Truly an inspirational woman," Stroud said. "She was the Maker's child, doing His work. It doesn't matter that Andraste wasn't the one who saved you, Anders. The Divine was guided by Her hand."

Anders nodded, but Fenris could tell he was trying to process this information. He remembered what Hawke said to him so long ago, that Anders believed. To have that belief shattered or even questioned…

"I never thought much about the Maker," Fenris said, interrupting, drawing their stares. "I believe He exists," he added, catching Stroud's look of indignation. "But I've never prayed to Him. What kind of god would allow such atrocities?"

"Fenris," Dorian said gently, as if he thought perhaps this wasn't the best time and place to have a religious discussion.

"It doesn't matter what you believe," Fenris said. "If you think that the Divine was guided by Andraste or the Maker, then she was. If you think this-" he waved a hand at the spirit that looked like the Divine, "-is your Divine, then she is. Even if she's a spirit, she helped us just like the Divine helped you. And if the Maker exists and you think it was His will, then so be it. Or," he continued, frowning slightly, "if you think He had nothing at all to do with and that all of this was just a random connection of coincidences, then that's it. People will believe what they want to believe, regardless of what you think. Your faith is your own. The Maker may set you on a path but that doesn't mean you can't choose your own destiny."

Anders stood a little straighter, managed a small smile. "That… was very insightful," he said finally.

Fenris shrugged. He still wasn't sure what to believe, if the Maker even cared what happened to His children anymore. Slavery existed, blood magic existed, people were killed for no reason, suffered for no reason. Was it random? Chance? Or was it something closer to fate? He wanted to think that he took his own freedom, but the path leading up to Alexius bringing him before a judge to sign those papers, did the Maker have a hand in that? And if He did, why did He wait until Fenris had already suffered so much?

Anders looked up at the spirit. "So you're not really the Divine, are you?"

"I'm sorry if I disappointed you," she said, the vision of the Divine faded away to a brilliant white spirit.

"Faith," Anders guessed. "You're beautiful."

Fenris could see what he meant. A warmth emitted from the spirit, only now vaguely human-shaped.

"Were you drawn to the Divine because of her own convictions?" Anders guessed. "Or are you more like a memory of her?"

"Whichever story you wish to tell," the spirit said evasively, "those are not bad."

"Bloody unhelpful," Hawke muttered. "How do we get out of here?" he asked, louder now.

A feeling of dread washed over Fenris suddenly, and he realized he wasn't the only one. Anders and Hawke exchanged a look, and Dorian paled considerably. Fenris lifted his sword, markings flashing.

"The Nightmare has found us," the spirit said. "You must run! Get through the rift, Inquisitor! Get through and slam it closed with all your strength!"

They ran, footsteps echoing in the vastness of the canyon. The sounds of the demonlings grew louder behind them, skittering, looking for their next meal, for more fears to feast upon. Fenris turned as one of the spider-like creatures leapt. He thrust his sword forward, letting the thing impale itself on his blade. It squealed and its spiny limbs thrashed. He shoved the point into the ground and stuck a booted foot on the corpse, pulling his sword free before taking off again.

"Hurry!" Stroud shouted.

"Once you get through," the spirit shouted, "the demon will be powerless. Closing the rift will banish the Nightmare to the furthest reaches of the Fade, and it will take the ones summoned by the Grey Wardens!"

"There it is!" Anders called.

Just ahead Fenris saw the rift, sickly pale green, pulsing eerily in the burnt-orange sky. Directly in front of it, blocking their exit, was something he could barely comprehend. He stood at the precipice of a shallow crater with the others, staring at the hulking Nightmare at least four stories tall. A thousand beady black eyes dotted its surface, two sets of pincers clicking madly, legs akimbo like a spider's. Its decaying carapace was brown, fleshy, and rotted. He gasped and tore his gaze from it, heart thudding in his chest so hard he thought it would break through his rib cage.

"Move!" he shouted, as the little fear demons scurried ever closer.

They leapt down, the spirit gliding after them, shaking the rock face of the canyon, crushing the little demons and blocking the way back.

"If you would," the spirit said, floating serenely past Anders, "tell Leliana, 'I am sorry. I failed you, too.'"

The spirit's light pulsed brighter than the noon-day sun, crackling energy surrounding her as she glided upward. Another demon, one Fenris hadn't seen, snarled as the spirit passed. A burst of celestial golden electricity shot out from her aura, catching it on its chest. The humanoid demon was thrown back, howling in rage, gnashing its razor-like teeth. Its face was eyeless, six grey tentacles reaching from its head, all of them writhing as it climbed to its feet. Another explosion of brilliant white light filled the area as they all shielded their eyes. The spirit was gone, the Nightmare subdued for now.

But the fight, it seemed, was just beginning.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence. Viewer discretion is definitely advised.

While they might have been fortunate enough not to engage the Nightmare, the fear demon would not be so easily stopped. They were linked somehow, Fenris thought, and if they defeated this creature, they would be able to escape. That was the only thing on his mind as he readied his blade. It was a flurry of hurried movement, a haste spell cast from either Anders or Dorian, and Fenris felt quick as the wind as he dodged the demon's writhing claws. Limbs protruding from its back like giant scythes made of bone, its entire upper body was constructed to do one thing and one thing only: kill.

Luckily for Fenris, he was trained to do just the same thing. A blast of fire distracted the demon and he rushed in, ducked under its flailing clawed hands, and rolled beyond its reach. He leapt up, spun, and swung his greatsword, leaving a slice through the oddly delicate flesh of its back. It screamed and turned, those sharp claws like five daggers coming straight for him, scraping across his breastplate. A shock of electricity caught one of its scythe-like limbs and it caught fire, burning the bone and filling the area with a putrid stench.

He, Hawke, and Stroud worked in tandem, finding a rhythm as one ducked in to score a hit, the other two keeping it distracted. From the edge of the pit, Anders wound a shield around both himself and Dorian, while keeping the three warriors in his sight, erecting his barrier spells on them once they fell. He risked a paralysis glyph at the demon's feet, only to have it break free seconds later. Dorian's face twisted in concentration as he searched for an opening around the fighters, not wanting to hit them with the tendrils of flame he commanded.

"Just let me call a bloody firestorm!" he shouted.

"No!" Anders yelled back. "You'll kill us all!"

"We need to – Look out!" Dorian said, knocking him aside as two spiderlike demonlings leapt from out of nowhere. They would have landed on Anders if not for his quick movements. "They're coming through the rocks!"

"How did they survive?!" Anders cried in confusion and desperation.

"Kill first, postulate later!"

Fenris was the first to realize what was happening when their magical protection fell. "Dorian!" He ducked a wild blow from the fear demon. "Hawke - Anders!"

Hawke looked up toward Anders, a mistake. The claws of the demon caught him across the shoulder, cutting right through his plate pauldron with the force and angle. Hawke grunted and fell, hitting the ground hard, face twisted in pain. Stroud swung, a precise hit that lopped off one of the demon's arms. It screamed and whirled, and Fenris ran for the mages, who were trying desperately to kill the half dozen demonlings.

"They're immune to fire!" Dorian shouted incredulously. "How utterly rude!"

"Lightning's no use!" Anders returned, sounding desperate.

Fenris raced in and with a cry born of pure adrenaline, thrust forward, skewering one through the middle. Another of the creatures leapt at him and he viciously hacked it in two, gritting his teeth with the effort of dragging the corpse on his blade. Another jumped and he spun, smacking it with the broadside of his sword, sending it flying through the air. Dorian encased it in a silvery prison and slammed it down into the rock once, twice, and again. It twitched, and stopped moving. But Fenris wasn't quick enough for the fourth or fifth, both of which sunk their spiny legs into either of his arms, latching on. He felt the pain of their barbs in his flesh, markings flashing bright and silvery as their pincers snapped at his head. Tiny wounds opened in his scalp. He felt the blood start to trickle down his cheeks and he dropped his sword, trying to phase into his spirit form, but couldn't.

"Fenris! Anders, do something!" This from Dorian, who was battling the last, trying to capture it in the same prison.

"Can't!" Anders shot back. Blue light pulsed from his palms and he wove another barrier around Stroud, who was going toe-to-toe with the fear demon. It lost another of its scythe-like limbs but it still had its claws and it spat now, a black oily substance that burned like acid when it hit the ground.

Fenris dropped to a knee, reaching up with both hands to grab at the pincers of one, using all his strength to pull the spikes from his head. Flesh tore as he dragged it off him, a white-hot burning pain as skin and hair ripped away. He screamed, the agony blinding him, but he couldn't stop. They would kill him if he stopped. With as much power as he could muster, he tore one of the pincers from the demonling, then the other. The legs remained firmly lodged in his arm, and the other beast was still gnawing at his head.

"Hold still. Just hold… fuck!" Dorian said, sounding panicked, rushing up. He knelt down, pulling one of Fenris's daggers and started to saw off the spiny legs. The demonling screeched and squealed and fell to the ground and Dorian stabbed it in its belly, black ichor spurting up again and again until it lay dead.

Fenris panted now with the effort to stay conscious, his vision starting to tunnel. Dorian pried the other one off him, a handful of flame in its face, not hurting it but startling it. It released Fenris, detaching itself and skittered away, obviously valuing its own life over its meal. Dorian ignored it and caught Fenris as he slumped to the ground.

"Get… others," Fenris muttered. "Stop… demon…"

"Fenris!"

Fenris blacked out from the pain, but opened his eyes a few moments later, vision blurry. Dorian was gone from his side, but the sounds of battle continued. He lifted his hand to his forehead and his fingers came away sticky and warm with blood. His left arm remained immobile; he counted six thick thorns embedded in his bicep and another three in his forearm. They'd pierced right through his armor. Dizzy and nauseous, he sat up slowly, the world spinning. He felt something against his cheek, like a piece of cloth and confused, reached up. With disgust and horror he realized it was a flap of his own scalp, torn away by one of the demons.

A raging, ear-splitting scream filled the area and he looked over, blinking through the haze and blood. Dorian, Anders and Stroud stood triumphant in their defeat of the demon, the twisted, hideous corpse falling to the ground, tendrils of black smoke curling up from its skin. Hawke lay bleeding and barely conscious, and Anders rushed to his side. Dorian, robes and face covered in blood both red and black, looked back to Fenris. His eyes widened in realization and he nearly tripped over himself to get to him.

"Fenris!"

The desperate cry pierced his brain and he held up a hand, trying to keep Dorian back. "Hurts," he croaked, which was likely not the most intelligent thing to say, but all things considered he thought he would be forgiven.

Dorian dug through the pouch on Fenris's belt and pulled a potion from it, hands shaking as he uncorked it, holding it to his lips. "Drink. Maker, Fenris, I thought you _died_. I was seconds away from…"

Fenris swallowed, the pain fading slightly. "From?" he coughed, spitting up some of the liquid.

Dorian dabbed at his lips with a corner of his sleeve. "…It's not important. Anders! We need help over here!"

Anders was helping a weak and shaking Hawke to his feet, and handed him to Stroud before coming over. "Poison in the claws," he said. "Sweet Andraste, how-" He stopped talking, knelt down, palms filled with a blue healing light.

Fenris groaned as his markings flared, the magic pulling at the lyrium lines and increasing the pain that had only just started to dull with the potion.

"The Nightmare!" Stroud shouted.

Anders and Dorian turned to look. Fenris glanced up wearily, exhausted. The Nightmare, made dormant with the spirit's last burst of energy, was waking now.

"Can you walk?" Dorian asked.

"I…"

"Doesn't matter." Dorian grabbed his good arm and pulled until Fenris's chest was across his shoulders, and stood, legs shaking a bit with the effort. "Anders, his sword. Please. Sentimental value, you know."

Anders took up both Dorian's staff and Fenris's sword, and the five of them hurried toward the rift, the exit, and salvation. The Nightmare suddenly reared up, causing them all to stop in their tracks. Battered, broken, bloodied and bruised, they couldn't stand another fight, not with that.

"Leave… leave me…" Fenris coughed, blood coating his lips. "I'll stay and…"

"The Void you will!" Dorian snarled.

Stroud stepped forward, drawing sword and shield.

"Stroud," Anders said. "Stroud, no-"

"Go," Stroud said. "I will hold it off. Get out of here."

"Stroud!"

Stroud looked at Anders. "Inquisitor," he said with a smile and a nod, "it's been an honor." He took a breath and raced toward the Nightmare, sword raised high, shouting, "FOR THE WARDENS!"

"Let's not let his sacrifice be in vain!" Dorian said quickly.

Fenris's arm and head pulsed with aching pain with every step Dorian took, and the same green light he saw and felt when they entered the Fade filled his vision again as they escaped.


	28. Chapter 28

Fenris lay on the ground of the courtyard in Adamant Fortress, staring up at the sky. Black was fading slowly into dark blue, and soon the light of dawn would be upon them. He heard the commotion around him, but all he wanted to do was sleep, to slip into the blissful, sweet, release of darkness. Dorian's face appeared above him, a concerned smile touching his lips, and he felt a warm hand on his cheek. Fenris tried to say something, but the effort of even that exceeded his capability. He heard the telltale and now familiar sound of a rift closing.

"We're safe," Dorian whispered. "So don't you dare even think about dying now."

"I've got him," Anders said, kneeling.

Dorian's face disappeared and Fenris tried to protest, to tell him to come back, but he felt Dorian take his hand, and he gripped it weakly: his lifeline. The magic that pulled at his markings was sharp, but welcome. His hair was sticky and stiff with blood, and he felt his skin knit back together, an altogether unpleasant burning sensation in his scalp. It itched like mad and he kicked his feet a little, trying to find relief, eyes shut tight. Dorian squeezed his hand, holding his arm down so he wouldn't flail.

"It'll be over soon," Dorian promised.

"The worst of it's done," Anders said. "I think. Your entire face was nearly off."

"Would've been such a shame," Dorian said airily, but Fenris heard the worry behind it. "I quite like his face. He's very handsome. But I suppose you go more for the bearded barbarian type."

Anders snorted. "The bearded barbarian is currently too weak to retort but I'm sure he'd have something to say."

"Inquisitor!"

A new voice, Fenris recognized it as Commander Cullen's.

"Is that – Maker's breath, what happened to Fenris?"

Fenris groaned. If he garnered _that_ kind of reaction from Cullen, he knew it had to be bad.

"Demons," Anders replied. "Give me the status report while I finish this."

Fenris felt his left arm being lifted. Stiff and sore, he couldn't move it. Anders swore quietly.

"Can you feel this?" Anders asked.

"Feel what?" Fenris croaked, opening his eyes.

"That explains that."

Cullen spoke quickly, efficiently detailing the battle. Most of the Wardens stood down, making it easy for the Inquisition's forces to enter the fortress. Those that didn't were killed. Fenris heard the death count for their solders, lower than he would have thought.

"You really can't feel this?" Anders asked.

"No," Fenris said, lifting his head, and dropping it at once. He was too tired to look. "My arm?"

"Some poison in the barbs, I bet," Anders said, though he sounded unsure. "Not like the stuff that Hawke caught. Don't worry. I'll fix it. I just need the proper potion. Do you feel any pain or constricting in your chest? Shortness of breath?"

Fenris shook his head. He was breathing deeply, just fine. But it was cold now and he started to shiver.

"Probably the blood loss," Anders said, taking off his coat and laying it over him. "Dorian, keep him warm. We'll have to get him up to one of the carts and back to Griffon Wing as soon as we can. I don't think staying here's a good idea. Cullen," he said, looking up.

Dorian tucked the coat around him carefully as Cullen came into view, standing above him, looking pensive.

"Can we have a couple of your soldiers take Fenris to one of the munitions carts," Anders said. "Send him and Hawke back-"

"Not leaving you," came Hawke's gruff voice.

Anders smiled a little. "Fine. Fenris and Dorian. And the rest of our wounded along with a contingent of soldiers to keep them safe."

"Yes, of course," Cullen said. "Ah, there's one more thing."

"What?" Anders asked, finally standing.

"We caught the magister who started this whole thing trying to flee. He leapt out of the rift about half an hour before you did. We have him chained and subdued with a cleanse so he can't use his magic."

Anders shuddered visibly at the last words. "Right. Um."

"So that's what happened to Erimond," Dorian said. "I did wonder. I'd like to speak with him privately at some point."

"Not if you're going to torture him," Anders said.

"Maker knows he certainly doesn't deserve _that_ ," Dorian replied sarcastically, even rolling his eyes. "But no, I don't advocate torture. I just want to talk to him. I think I could get more information from him than any of your interrogators."

Anders nodded. "Back at Skyhold then. Cullen-"

"Consider it done. He'll be awaiting you in the cells."

"And we'll follow when we can," Anders finished. "Once our wounded are well enough to travel."

"Where is…" Cullen started carefully, clearing his throat. "Warden Stroud?"

Anders fell silent. With a breath, he said, "Dead. He died in true Warden fashion: sacrificing himself so that we could live." He stepped away, gesturing at Cullen to follow.

Dorian looked down at Fenris, still clutching his hand. "Don't think you're off the hook just because you're lying there nearly unconscious."

"Hn?"

Two soldiers approached and Dorian stood, gathering his staff and Fenris's sword. Fenris felt himself being picked up off the ground. He continued to shiver as they carried him to a cart, scratchy woolen blankets lining the wooden bottom. Dorian hopped up next to him and they were off, being wheeled away from Adamant Rortress. Dorian gathered the blankets up and around him, readjusting Anders' coat.

"I'd use a spell but I'm fresh out of mana," Dorian said. "And lyrium potions. Anders took the last to heal you and Hawke."

"Use the lines," Fenris said without thinking. Danarius would use his lyrium lines, either slicing into one or simply absorbing them. He wasn't sure how it worked exactly. Realization of what he'd said hit him at once. "I didn't…"

"Hush. I'll let that go because you're half out of your mind with pain and potion. I will never, ever use you that way, Fenris. You're a person, not a walking lyrium deposit."

"Yes," Fenris agreed. He reached up with his right hand and Dorian took it.

"No, what I'm really angry with you about is that you decided that you would stay behind. What did you think you were? A liability? Did you honestly think I would leave you?"

"I… er…" He had said that. It was fuzzy, but he remembered, and he tried to shift closer to Dorian for heat and comfort.

"Hmph. You're lucky I adore you. You do know that if you died in the Fade, I would have…"

"Hm?"

"Never mind. Go to sleep, Fenris. We'll be back at the keep in a few hours with proper facilities to get you bandaged up."

Fenris, cold and exhausted, didn't argue.


	29. Chapter 29

It took a full four days at Griffon Wing Keep for Fenris to be declared well enough to travel. Anders and Hawke stayed with them for the first two, Hawke undergoing his own recovery from the fear demon's poison. It had the horrible side effect of giving him nightmares, and Fenris woke with his own right alongside Hawke, both of them thrashing and screaming. Anders mixed a potion for heavy sleep and left them with it when he started his return to Skyhold. 

Horses were acquired for the trip back when Dorian and Fenris left two days later, though after only a quarter of an hour of riding, Dorian declared they should double up and use the second as their pack mule. Fenris was grateful for the suggestion, still unable to move his left arm. Already an extremely inexperienced rider, the lack of proper hold on the reins caused his horse to drift. But sitting behind Dorian he was able to hold him around the waist with his good arm, cheek pressed to his back between his shoulder blades.

"Try not to fall asleep," Dorian said. "It would be awkward if the rest of the Inquisition's soldiers came across us and you were suffering a broken limb from tumbling off a horse after everything that happened. There would be jokes make at your expense."

Fenris snorted. "I'm not tired. Not anymore." He was a little, his sleep interrupted by the nightmares even with the potion, though it helped some. He still ached, and his head hurt, and he wondered what he looked like, the inhabitants of Griffon Wing glancing quickly away from him when they saw him. It wasn't the curious stares he was used to when it came to his lyrium lines, or the expression of fear from those who knew what he could do. Horror, perhaps? Shock? He knew Dorian kept a pocket mirror in his bag, but when he asked, Dorian refused him, 'For now.'

Though he was concerned about his appearance, he wasn't so vain as to think that was the worst of his troubles. He couldn't feel his left arm. There was no pain, but he would've preferred it. His armor ruined from the fight, it was taken on ahead to Skyhold for repairs and he was able to examine the damage without the pauldrons and gauntlets. Several scars, ropy and angry red dotted their way down his bicep and forearm. He tried to flex his fingers, but his muscles didn't respond. Whatever was in the barbs that were left behind and removed by Anders rendered it completely useless. He felt sick when he thought of what this might mean.

"I could train with a one-handed sword," Fenris said cautiously. "I'm decent with a dagger. A broadsword can't be too much different. Hawke does it."

Silence from Dorian, though Fenris felt his muscles tighten, and he knew he'd heard him.

"…It's something that needs to be said," Fenris whispered. "I may lose the use of it permanently."

"Let's discuss that when we know for sure," Dorian said in clipped tones. "I, for one, am hoping for a completely full and miraculous recovery. Anders will have another look at it when we return to Skyhold and after a few uncomfortable days or weeks of recovery, you'll regain the full use of your arm and this will be just another story we can tell when we're old and grey together."

Fenris felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. "Old and grey together?"

"Well, you'll be grey," Dorian said. "Or maybe your hair will just stay white, who knows. I certainly won't be going grey. Or bald," he added defiantly. "But yes, together. Old. You and I."

It was a thought. Not one that Fenris had entertained. The prospect of being together with Dorian for a long time? Yes. For as long as possible, Dorian said. But Fenris always assumed that meant a few years, maybe. Once they helped defeat Corypheus, if they survived it, returning to Tevinter and going their different ways, separated by class. Dorian with his duties to his family's legacy, and Fenris as a servant to Alexius.

"Did you not want that?" Dorian asked. "Were you hoping for a dramatic death, a life cut short? Because while that sounds good in theory, in practice it is just simply awful."

Fenris laughed. "No. I… well. All right."

"All right?"

"We'll grow old and grey together."

Dorian was silent a moment. "Not grey."

Fenris smirked against the fabric of Dorian's robes. "No. Not grey. But old."

"Old and bones creaking," Dorian pushed.

"I would bring you your tea."

Dorian scoffed. "My bones won't creak. I was talking about yours. I would bring you tea. Or our servants would."

It was Fenris's turn to stiffen, sitting up straight. Servants. Slaves. Did Dorian expect him to keep slaves? Even if they were allowed to live together in Tevinter in Dorian's estate, perhaps in the greatest scandal the country may ever have seen, would he be expected to allow the house to continue having _slaves_?

"…No servants," Dorian corrected himself.

Fenris grunted. Servants were paid. They had more rights than slaves, but even the idea of that rankled him. Would Dorian, if his father rescinded disowning him, inherit the Pavus estate and all that came with it? A big house required upkeep, and that meant people to clean the fireplaces, make the beds, cook the meals, tend the gardens and all things that came with the running of an estate. Fenris was intimately aware of the day to day business of the slave and servant classes. But was Dorian? Did he just think that his meals were prepared without anyone hanging over a hot stove for hours?

"Something to discuss in future," Fenris said, though he couldn't see a compromise on this.

"Well it hardly matters," Dorian said airily. "I've been disowned. I've chosen my path." His hand slid over Fenris's briefly, squeezing. "Right now I am somewhat penniless, so I couldn't possibly afford a grand house, servants or no. And as much as I might miss the comforts, I'd much rather have you."

Fenris smiled. It wasn't as if they hadn't suffered the lack of amenities on the road when they traveled. And while Skyhold wasn't a cold shack on the edge of a sea, it wasn't what either of them were used to. Would they stay with the Inquisition even after everything was over? After Corypheus was defeated? Of course, that might take years, and they might not survive it. But the _what ifs_ hung in his ear, whispering. He could see himself in a simple house with a room or two where he cooked and cleaned for himself. But Dorian? He belonged amongst the upper-class elites, attending grand parties and being catered to.

"I'd rather have you as well," Fenris said quietly.

Dorian was silent for a few minutes as their horse continued on, its companion walking smoothly next to them, packs tied to the saddle. "I was going to say…"

"Hm?"

"That if you had died in the Fade." Dorian took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled forcibly. "That I might not have found the will to leave either."

"I…" Fenris wasn't sure what to say to that. He would have given his life for Dorian in much the same way he would've given his life for Felix. But what if Dorian did die? He, Fenris, would be devastated. The idea of living without Dorian was heartbreaking. When he finally found the words, what came out was, "I didn't die."

Dorian laughed. "And thank the Maker for that."

Fenris rested his cheek against Dorian's back and they fell into a comfortable silence as they continued their trek back to Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done with Part 3! Two more left to go.There will be a tiny break here, but Ascension will resume with Part 4 in the next day or two depending on more edits and other projects that have my attention at the moment. Part 4 will definitely be up in its entirety before the end of March though, and Part 5 posted soon after that.
> 
> Thanks so much you guys for being awesome and sticking with me through this. I have more Dorian/Fenris stuff planned in the future that I've been outlining and working on, so I hope you find your way there once I get it posted. Again, I really appreciate all your comments and the support. It really means a lot to me, all the kind words.
> 
> See you in Part 4!
> 
> Edited to add: 
> 
>   
> Some awesome Anders/Hawke art by Nioelle for chapter 7 in which Hawke returns to Skyhold.
> 
> Her deviantArt is here: http://nioell.deviantart.com/art/Reunion-522870764


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